. . <VI 

Vi  ooimi 

\89l 


miss 

TOOSEY’S 


823 

\89'7 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/misstooseysmissiOOwhit 


Miss  Toosey’s 
Mission 

B 

By  the  author  of 

“ Laddie, 99  etc. 

© 

Philadelphia 

Henry  Altemus  Company 


Copyright  1897  by  Henry  Altemus 


bJ  S <? 

/ <^^7 

MISS  TOOSEY’S  MISSION. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Miss  Toosey  always  wore  a black  silk  dress  on 
Sunday,  and  went  three  times  to  church.  Morning, 
afternoon,  and  evening,  as  soon  as  the  bell  changed 
at  the  quarter,  that  black  silk  dress  came  out  of 
Miss  Toosey's  little  house  in  North  Street,  turned 
the  corner  into  High  Street,  crossed  the  Market- 
place, passed  under  the  archway  into  the  church- 
yard, in  at  the  west  door,  and  up  the  middle  aisle, 
past  the  free  seats,  which  occupy  the  lower  end  of 
Martel  church,  and  stopped  at  the  second  pew  on 
the  left-hand  side,  one  sitting  in  which  has  been 
rented  by  Miss  Toosey  for  many  years.  This  pew 
is  immediately  in  front  of  the  church-wardens' 
seat,  where  those  two  dignitaries  sit  majestically, 
with  a long  rod  placed  conveniently  on  either  hand, 
ready  to  be  seized  at  a moment's  notice,  to  execute 
judgment  on  youthful  offenders  in  the  free  seats, 
though  the  well-known  fact  that  generations  of 
paint  and  varnish  have  made  them  fixtures  some- 
what takes  off  from  the  respect  and  awe  felt  for 
them.  Miss  Toosey  is  short,  and  the  pew-door  has 


4 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


a tendency  to  stick;  and  when  you  have  a Bible, 
prayer-book,  hymn-book,  spectacle-case,  and  um- 
brella in  your  hands,  you  cannot  enter  into  a strug- 
gle on  equal  terms;  and  so  when  Mr.  Church- 
warden Wyatt  happens  to  be  in  church  in  time,  he 
leans  over  and  opens  the  pew-door  for  Miss  Too- 
sey,  “and  very  kind  of  him,  too,  a most  gentlemanly 
man  Mr.  Wyatt  is,  my  dear.” 

The  black  silk  was  quite  a part  of  Sunday  in 
Miss  Toosey’s  mind,  and  therefore  holy,  to  a cer- 
tain extent.  She  would  have  considered  it  disre- 
spectful to  the  day  to  put  on  any  other  dress,  and 
no  stress  of  weather  could  prevent  her  wearing  it; 
indeed,  she  thought  it  decidedly  a want  of  trust  in 
Providence  to  fear  the  heavy  rain  or  deep  snow 
might  injure  it. 

She  would  pin  up  the  skirt  inside  out  round  her 
waist  with  a reckless  disregard  of  appearance,  so 
that  you  could  hardly  guess  she  had  any  dress  on 
at  all  under  her  shawl;  but  nothing  would  have  in- 
duced her  to  put  on  another.  Of  late  years,  too, 
she  had  not  felt  it  quite  right  to  wear  it  on  week- 
days when  she  was  asked  out  to  tea;  it  seemed  to 
her  inappropriate,  like  reading  a regular  Sunday 
book  on  week-days,  which  has  something  profane 
about  it.  It  had  been  through  many  vicissitudes; 
not  even  Miss  Toosey  herself  could  accurately  re- 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


call  what  it  was  in  its  original  form;  and  the  first 
distinct  incident  in  its  existence  was  the  black  crape 
with  which  it  was  trimmed,  in  respect  to  the  mem- 
ory of  Miss  Toosey’s  father — old  Toosey,  the 
parish  doctor.  This  was  fifteen  years  ago;  and 
since  then  it  had  been  unpicked  and  re-made  sev- 
eral times,  turned,  sponged,  dipped,  French- 
chalked,  cleaned,  trimmed,  and  altered,  till  it  would 
have  required  vast  ingenuity  to  do  anything  fresh 
to  it. 

As  the  black  silk  was  part  of  Sunday  to  Miss 
Toosey,  so  was  Miss  Toosey  part  of  Sunday  to 
many  of  the  Martel  people.  The  Miss  Purts,  the 
draper's  daughters,  in  the  Market-place,  knew  that 
it  was  time  to  put  on  their  smart  bonnets  (the  latest 
Paris  fashion),  when  they  saw  Miss  Toosey  pass 
the  window,  so  as  to  insure  their  clattering  into 
church  on  their  high  heels,  tossing  and  giggling, 
not  later  than  the  Venite. 

Old  Budd,  the  clerk,  with  his  white  beard  and 
wooden  leg,  always  said  “Good  morning,  Miss 
Toosey;  fine  day,  mum/'  as  he  stumped  past  her 
pew-door  on  his  way  to  the  vestry,  which  made 
her  feel  rather  uncomfortable  as  he  said  it  out  loud, 
and  it  did  not  seem  quite  right;  but  then  Mr.  Budd 
is  such  a good  man,  and  being  a church  official,  no 
doubt  he  has  a right  to  behave  just  as  he  pleases. 


6 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION, 


Even  Mr.  Dodson,  the  late  curate,  after  baptizing 
fifteen  pugnacious  babies,  all  crying  lustily,  said, 
as  he  passed  Miss  Toosey  on  his  way  back  to  the 
reading-desk,  wiping  the  beads  of  perspiration 
from  his  good-natured  red  face,  “Warm  work,  Miss 
Toosey.” 

I think  that  both  Mr.  Peters  the  rector,  and  Mr. 
Glover  the  curate,  would  quite  have  lost  their  place 
in  the  service  if  Miss  Toosey’s  seat  had  been  empty, 
as  they  neither  of  them  could  have  preached  with 
comfort  without  the  fat,  red-velvet  cushion  with  the 
tassels,  on  which  they  laid  their  books. 

I do  not  think  it  ever  occurred  to  Miss  Toosey 
that  there  was  anything  amiss  in  Martel  church 
or  its  services.  She  was  proud  of  the  fine,  old  gray 
stone  tower,  which  had  been  built  when  men  gave 
willingly  of  their  best  for  the  service  of  God,  and 
so  built  “for  glory  and  for  beauty;”  and  she  loved 
the  roof  of  the  nave,  which  was  rich  in  oak  carving, 
bleached  white  by  time,  with  angels  and  emblems 
of  wonderful  variety  and  ingenuity.  And  all  the 
rest  of  the  church  she  took  for  granted,  and  did 
not  wonder  at  the  narrow,  uncomfortable  pews, 
where,  as  Mr.  Malone,  the  Irish  curate,  said,  “it 
was  quite  impossible  to  kneel  down,  and  very  diffi- 
cult to  get  up  again;”  or  at  the  free  seats,  put  be- 
hind all  the  others;  or  at  the  large,  steep  galleries; 


MISS  TOOSEY1  S MISSION. 


7 


or  at  the  high  pulpit  rich  in  red  velvet  and  dusty 
fringe  on  one  side,  and  the  reading-desk  to  match 
on  the  other,  with  the  clerk’s  desk  underneath 
where  Mr.  Budd  did  his  part  of  the  service,  i.  e., 
the  responses,  as  a clerk  should  do,  in  a strident, 
penetrating  voice,  and  took  a well-earned  nap  in 
the  sermon  when  his  duties  were  discharged.  It 
did  not  strike  her  as  curious  that  the  seats  in  the 
chancel  should  be  occupied  by  the  Peters  family  on 
one  side  and  by  the  Rossiters  on  the  other,  while 
the  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  choir  displayed 
their  smart  bonnets  or  Sunday  waistcoats  to  great 
advantage  in  front  of  the  organ,  where,  in  return 
for  their  vocal  exertions  they  were  privileged  to 
behave  as  badly  as  their  fancies  led  them.  You 
see,  Miss  Toosey  was  not  critical,  and  she  had  not 
been  to  any  other  church  for  many  years,  and  cus- 
tom draws  a soft  curtain  over  imperfections,  and 
reverence  is  not  quick  to  see  irreverence  in  others, 
and  prayer  fills  the  air  with  clouds  of  incense 
through  which  we  cannot  easily  see  bonnets,  but 
only  Heaven  itself;  and  as  Miss  Toosey  knelt, 
being  very  short,  you  remember,  and  the  pews 
high  she  could  only  with  her  outward  eyes  see  the 
angels  in  the  roof  and  her  prayer-book.  And  it 
was  just  the  same  with  the  sermons:  as  church  was 
church  to  Miss  Toosey,  so  a sermon  was  a sermon, 


8 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION. 


Whether  it  was  Mr.  Peters,  Mr.  Glover,  or  Mr. 
Malone,  Miss  Toosey  lookd  out  the  text  in  her 
little  brown  Bible,  and  put  the  bookmarker,  with 
“Love  the  Jews,”  into  the  place,  and  gave  her  head 
a little  nod,  as  if  to  show  that  the  text  was  there, 
and  no  mistake  about  it;  and  then  took  off  her 
spectacles,  wiped  them,  put  them  into  a case,  gave 
her  black  silk  skirt  a slight  shake  to  prevent 
creases,  and  then  settled  down  to  listen.  I will  not 
undertake  to  say  that  Miss  Toosey  entered  into  all 
the  subtleties  of  doctrine  set  forth  over  the  red 
velvet  pulpit-cushion;  I will  not  even  deny  that 
sometimes  the  lavender  ribbons  on  Miss  Toosey’s 
bonnet  nodded,  without  much  connection  with  the 
arguments  of  the  discourse,  and  that  the  words 
“election  and  grace”  grew  faint  and  dreamy  in  her 
ears,  and  Mr.  Peter's  gray  hair  or  Mr.  Glover’s 
whiskers  disappeared  from  her  sight.  I am  dis- 
posed to  think  that  she  did  not  lose  very  much ; but 
Miss  Toosey  took  it  much  to  heart,  so  much  so  that 
she  could  hardly  believe  herself  capable  of  it,  and 
even  contended  that  she  was  listening  all  the  time, 
though  she  closed  her  eyes  to  pay  greater  atten- 
tion. But  sometimes  the  sermons  kept  Miss  Too- 
sey awake  effectually,  and  made  her  feel  very  un- 
comfortable for  some  days  afterwards;  and  this  was 
when  they  were  on  the  subject  of  conversion.  Mr 


MISS  TOOSEY’ S M/SSIOJV. 


9 


Malone  was  especially  strong  on  this  point;  and, 
after  one  of  his  powerful  discourses,  Miss  Toosey 
' would  have  a wakeful  night,  going  through  the 
course  of  her  peaceful,  uneventful  life,  trying  to  find 
that  moment  of  awakening  which  other  Christians 
seemed  to  find  so  easily,  wondering  if  she  might 
date  her  conversion  from  a day  when  she  was  a 
little  child,  crying  and  being  comforted  at  her 
mother’s  knee;  or  in  the  quiet,  sober  joy  of  her 
Confirmation;  or  when  she  followed  her  mother  up 
the  aisle,  one  Easter  Day,  in  trembling  awe  to  her 
first  Communion ; or  in  the  days  of  her  simple,  girl- 
ish romance  long  ago,  when  her  heart  was  over- 
flowing with  pure  happiness;  or  to  the  days  follow- 
ing so  quickly  when  it  came  to  an  untimely  end, 
and  she  sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  night  after  night, 
with  her  cheek  (it  was  round  and  smooth  then) 
pressed  to  that  same  little  brown  Bible,  with  some 
faded  flowers  between  the  leaves;  or  could  it  have 
been  when  her  father  died  and  she  stood  alone  by 
his  grave?  None  of  these  events  seemed  quite  to 
answer  to  Mr.  Malone’s  descriptions,  and  some- 
times Miss  Toosey  was  driven  to  fear  that  she  must 
rank  herself  with  the  unconverted,  to  whom  a few 
scathing  words  were  addressed  at  the  conclusion 
of  the  sermon. 

On  one  occasion  there  was  a revival  at  Martel, 


10 


MISS  TOOSEV’S  MISSION. 


and  meetings  were  held  at  the  schoolroom,  one  of 
which  Miss  Toosey  attended.  There  was  much 
heat  and  hymn-singing  and  excitement;  and  Miss 
Toosey  was  agitated  and  hysterical  and  impressed; 
but  when  the  presiding  clergyman,  in  an  impas- 
sioned manner,  invited  all  those  who  were  con- 
scious of  conversion  to  remain  and  the  rest  to  leave, 
Miss  Toosey,  without  a moment's  hesitation,  went 
out  and  found  her  way  home,  sobbing  and  broken- 
hearted. 

Then,  too,  the  doctrine  of  assurance  troubled  her 
sorely,  feeling  (as  she  did)  sure  only  of  her  own 
weakness  and  God's  great  mercy.  And  so  she 
grew  very  nervous  and  uncomfortable  when  people 
began  to  talk  of  their  religious  experiences,  which 
seemed  so  much  more  satisfactory  than  her  own. 

You  must  not,  however,  suppose  that  Miss  Too- 
sey was  at  all  High  Church;  on  the  contrary,  she 
had  a horror  of  Puseyites  and  of  the  opinions  which 
she  fondly  imagined  them  to  hold;  such,  for  exam- 
ple, as  works  being  the  only  means  of  salvation, 
without  the  faintest  mixture  of  faith,  which,  as  Miss 
Toosey  said,  is  so  directly  opposite  to  the  teaching 
of  the  Bible.  She  also  spoke  of  the  danger  of  the 
“multiplication  of  ordinances,"  a well-sounding  sen- 
tence which  Mr.  Glover  was  rather  fond  of;  and 
Miss  Toosey  always  gave  a little  triumphant  sniff 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


11 


after  saying  it,  for  it  is  not  every  one  who  can  make 
use  of  abtruse,  theological  expressions  of  many 
syllables.  It  is  true  that  she  went  to  church  her- 
self whenever  there  was  an  opportunity,  and  would 
have  done  so  if  Mr.  Peters  had  largely  increased 
the  services,  but  that,  of  course,  was  different.  She 
also  regarded  with  suspicion  the  efforts  of  some  of 
the  young  ladies  of  the  parish,  who  had  “high”  ten- 
dencies, to  introduce  crosses  surreptitiously  into 
the  decorations  at  Christmas,  cunningly  disguised 
with  evergreens,  and  of  odd  and  ornamental  shapes. 
She  was  firmly  persuaded  that  the  emblem  of  our 
faith  had  something  Romish  about  it,  and  that  it 
was  safer  to  keep  to  circles  and  anchors  and  trian- 
gles; indeed,  she  distrusted  the  decoration  excite- 
ment among  the  young  ladies  altogether,  and 
looked  back  with  regret  to  the  days  when  the  pew- 
opener  used  to  put  sprigs  of  holly  in  the  windows, 
and  fasten  bushes  of  the  same  to  the  lamps  in  the 
chancel. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Now  I must  tell  you  about  Miss  Toosey’s  Mis- 
sion, and  I think  it  will  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
her  Mission  was  the  conversion  of  the  heathen,— 


12 


MISS  TOOSEV'S  MISSION. 


not  the  heathen  at  Martel,  though  there  were 
enough  and  to  spare,  even  in  that  favored  spot;  not 
the  heathen  in  London,  or  our  great  towns  even; 
but  the  heathen  in  foreign  parts,  real  bona  fide  black 
heathen,  with  war-paint  and  feathers,  and  strings 
of  beads,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  Her  Mission  began 
in  this  manner:  A missionary  Bishop  came  to 

preach  at  Martel.  I do  not  know  quite  how  it  hap- 
pened, as  he  certainly  did  not  pronounce  “Shibbo- 
leth” with  the  same  distinct  and  unctuous  intona- 
tion which  was  deemed  essential  at  Martel;  but  I 
have  been  told  that  he  met  Mr.  Peters  out  at  din- 
ner, and  that  the  rector,  always  good-natured,  of- 
fered his  pulpit,  red-velvet  cushion  and  all,  for  the 
Bishop’s  use  on  the  following  Sunday  evening. 

The  Bishop  gladly  accepted  the  offer.  He  was 
not  quick  to  see  microscopic  differences  of  opinion ; 
the  cut  of  a coat,  a posture,  or  the  use  of  a cant 
word,  did  not  seem  to  him  of  such  vital  importance 
as  he  found  attached  to  them  among  Churchmen  at 
home;  and  he  was  fairly  puzzled  at  the  hot  blood 
and  animosity  that  arose  from  them,  bidding  fair 
even  at  times  to  rend  the  woven  garment  without 
seam.  He  had  been  used  to  a clearer,  simpler  atmo- 
sphere, a larger  horizon,  a wider  span  of  heaven 
overhead,  than  we  can  get  in  our  streets  and  lanes, 
making  it  easier,  perhaps,  to  look  up  steadfastly,  as 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


13 


those  should  whose  lives  are  ever  teaching  them 
how  far,  how  terribly  “far,  the  heaven  is  from 
the  earth,”  where  the  earth  lies  in  darkness  and 
idolatry.  To  one  who  was  used  to  the  difference  be- 
tween Christian  and  heathen,  the  difference  be- 
tween Churchman  and  Churchman  seemed  unutter- 
ably small;  so  that  he  was  fain  to  say  with  Abra- 
ham, “Let  there  be  no  strife  between  us,  I pray,  for 
we  are  brethren.” 

He  had  come  home  with  his  heart  burning  within 
him  with  the  urgency  of  the  work  he  left  behind, 
confident  that  he  could  not  fail  to  find  help  and 
sympathy  in  happy,  rich  Christian  England.  In 
his  waking  thoughts,  as  well  as  in  his  dreams,  there 
always  stood  by  him  a man  of  Macedonia,  the 
Macedonia  of  his  far-off  labors,  saying,  “Come  over 
and  help  us;”  and  he  found  that  the  love  of  many 
had  waxed  cold,  and  that  indifference  and  scarcely 
concealed  weariness  received  him  wherever  he 
went. 

So  he  was  glad  to  accept  Mr.  Peters’s  invitation, 
and  thought  Mr.  Malone  looked  rather  sourly  at 
him  in  the  vestry,  and  even  the  rector  was  not  quite 
so  cordial  to  him  as  he  had  been  at  the  dinner- 
party, still  he  scaled  the  heights  of  the  pulpit  with 
alacrity,  to  the  enlivening  strain  of  “From  Green- 
land’s Icy  Mountains,”  which  not  even  the  “Mitre 


14 


MISS  TOOSEY’S  MISSION. 


Hymn-book”  and  the  Martel  choir  can  rob  of  its 
charms. 

The  text  which  Miss  Toosey  found  out  in  her  lit- 
tle brown  Bible  was  from  St.  John,  the  6th  chapter 
and  9th  verse:  “There  is  a lad  here  with  five  barley 
loaves  and  two  small  fishes;  but  what  are  they 
among  so  many?”  The  Bishop  began  by  describ- 
ing the  scene  where  the  miracle  occurred, — the  bar- 
ren hillside;  the  blue  sea  of  Galilee;  the  towns  in 
the  distance,  with  their  white,  flat-roofed  houses, 
nestling  in  the  green  valley  like  “a  handful  of  pearls 
in  a goblet  of  emerald;”  the  sun  setting  behind  the 
purple  Galilean  hills,  and  the  soft  evening  light 
touching  the  mountain-tops  with  gold,  and  casting 
long  shadows  on  the  quiet  sea,  where  the  fishing- 
boats  were  going  forth  to  their  nightly  work.  And 
then  he  told  of  the  weary,  foot-sore  crowd,  gathered 
on  the  slope  of  the  hill,  far  from  home,  and  hungry 
and  fainting, — women  and  little  children,  as  well 
as  men, — many  of  whom  had  come  from  far-away 
Capernaum  and  Caesarea,  skirting  the  north  side  of 
the  lake  for  many  a weary  mile,  on  foot,  to  meet  the 
ship  that  bore  our  Lord  across  the  sea. 

Whence  can  they  buy  bread  in  this  wilderness? 
But  among  that  hapless  crowd  there  is  One,  foot- 
sore and  weary  and  fasting  like  them,  yet  Who  is 
the  Creator  himself.  “He  Who  maketh  the  grass 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


15 


to  grow  upon  the  mountains,  and  herb  for  the  use 
of  man,”  Who  “feedeth  the  young  ravens,”  and 
Who  “filleth  the  hungry  soul  with  good  things;” 
and  he  is  looking  with  infinite  compassion  on  their 
want;  and  He  says  to  His  disciples,  “Give  ye  them 
to  eat.”  And  then,  abruptly,  the  Bishop  turned 
from  the  story  of  the  miracle  to  his  own  work,  and 
he  told  of  the  great  extent  of  mountain  forest,  and 
plain,  of  the  mighty  rivers,  of  the  rich  and  fertile 
land,  and  the  luxuriant  beauty  all  around,  fair  as 
the  promised  land  of  which  Moses  said,  “The  eyes 
of  the  Lord  thy  God  are  always  upon  it,  from  the 
beginning  of  the  year  even  unto  the  end  of  the 
year.”  But  the  people  of  this  fair  land  are,  like  the 
weary  crowd  on  the  hillside,  far  from  home — ah! 
how  far  from  heaven,  with  the  deep,  deep  sea  of  ig- 
norance rolling  between;  they  are  hungry,  sinking 
for  the  want  of  the  Bread  of  Life;  but  civilization 
and  knowledge  and  light  are  far  away  from  them 
across  the  ocean,  and  “how  can  we  satisfy  these 
men  with  bread  here  in  the  wilderness?”  It  is  even- 
ing too;  surely  the  sun  of  this  world  is  getting  near 
its  setting,  and  casting  long  shadows,  if  we  would 
but  see  them.  Shall  we  send  these  poor  souls  away 
fasting? — these  women  and  little  children?  Will 
they  not  faint  by  the  way?  How  can  they  hope  to 
reach  their  heavenly  home  without  the  Bread  of 
Life? 


10  MISS  TOOSEV'S  MISSION. 

But  the  Lord  is  looking  on  them  with  the  same 
infinite  compassion,  and  He  is  saying  to  me  and  to 
you,  “Give  ye  them  to  eat.”  Is  there  not  here  this 
evening,  among  you  Martel  people,  a lad  with  five 
barley  loaves  and  two  small  fishes  for  the  Lord’s 
use?  It  seemed  so  little  to  the  disciples,  scarcely 
worthy  of  mention.  “What  are  they  among  so 
many?”  Merely  enough  for  two  or  three,  and  here 
are  five  thousand  and  more.  But  the  Lord  said, 
“Bring  them  hither  to  Me.”  He  had  no  need  of 
them.  He  could  have  commanded  the  stones  to  be 
made  bread;  He  could  have  called  manna  down 
from  heaven;  He  could  have  satisfied  them  with 
a word;  but  He  was  graciously  pleased  to  take 
that  poor  and  humble  little  store  in  His  all-pow- 
erful hand;  and  it  was  sufficient;  the  people  were 
filled,  they  had  as  much  as  they  would,  and  there 
were  yet  fragments  that  remained.  Never  think  of 
the  smallness,  the  poorness  of  the  instrument,  when 
it  is  the  Master's  hand  that  uses  it, — He  who  made 
this  lovely  world  out  of  chaos,  and  formed  the  glor- 
ious light  out  of  utter  darkness.  Do  not  be  kept 
back  by  false  humility,  by  thinking  too  much  of  the 
insignificance  and  worthlessness  of  the  gift.  Give 
your  best, — give  your  all.  “Bring  them  hither  to 
Me,”  saith  the  Lord.  What  have  you  to  give? 
Turn  over  your  store, — yourself,  that  is  best  of  ail, 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  M/SSIOJV. 


17 


most  worthy  offering,  poor  though  it  may  be — 
your  money,  your  time,  your  influence,  your  pray- 
ers. Who  so  poor  but  what  he  has  one  or  more  of 
these  barley  loaves  of  daily  life  to  offer  to  Him 
Who  gave  us  all?  I am  not  here  to  beg  and  en- 
treat for  your  money,  though  to  our  dim  sight  it 
seems  sorely  needed  just  now,  when,  from  village 
after  village,  the  cry  comes  to  me  for  teachers  and 
for  light,  and  I have  no  men  or  means  to  send 
them;  and  worse  still  is  the  silence  of  those  who 
are  in  such  utter  darkness;  they  do  not  know  their 
own  need.  But  still  we  know  and  believe  that  it  is 
the  Lord’s  work,  and  it  will  be  done.  It  may  not 
be  by  me  or  you,  but  in  His  own  good  time  it  will 
be  done.  He  does  not  need  your  money;  He  only 
offers  you  the  glorious  privilege  of  being  fellow- 
workers  with  Him.  Yours  is  the  loss  if  you  do  not 
heed;  the  work  will  not  suffer;  only  you  will  have 
had  no  share;  only  you  may  not  have  another  op- 
portunity given  you;  only  the  time  may  come  when 
it  will  be  said  to  you,  “Forasmuch  as  ye  did  it  not 
to  these”  (who  are  indeed  poor  and  sick  and  in 
prison),  “ye  did  it  not  to  Me.” 

It  was  not  by  any  means  what  the  almshouse 
men  called  “a  powerful  discarse;”  the  old  men  be- 
longing to  Frowde’s  charity,  in  their  snuff-colored 
coats,  each  with  a large  F on  the  left  shoulder,  clus- 


18 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


tering  round  the  north  door  after  service,  shook 
their  heads  in  disapproval. 

“He  don't  wrusstle  with  ’urn,”  said  old  Jacobs; 
“he  ain't  fit  to  hold  a candle  to  old  Thwackum, 
down  at  Ebenezer.  Why,  I have  seen  him  punish 
that  there  pulpit  cushion  till  the  dust  came  out  like 
anything,  and  he  had  to  take  off  his  neckcloth,  it 
were  that  wet;  that's  what  I calls  preaching  now, 
and  to  think  of  the  likes  of  this  'un  being  a Bishop." 

Miss  Baker,  too,  of  the  firm  of  Silver  & Baker, 
drapers  in  High  street,  expressed  her  opinion  in  a 
high  key,  under  an  umbrella,  as  she  went  home 
along  Church  lane,  “that  he  did  not  preach  the  gos- 
pel;" but  then  she  was  very  particular,  and  the 
Apostle  Paul  himself  would  scarcely  have  come  up 
to  her  standard  of  “gospel"  sermons. 

There  was  not  a very  good  collection  either.  You 
see,  it  was  partly  from  its  being  a wet  evening,  so 
that  the  congregation  was  altogether  small;  and  it 
had  not  been  given  out  on  the  preceding  Sunday; 
and  no  bills  had  been  printed  and  posted  on  the 
church  doors  and  principal  public  houses  in  the 
town,  as  was  always  done  in  the  case  of  sermons 
in  aid  of  the  Irish  Church  Mission,  or  the  Jew's 
Society.  So  people  had  not  been  attracted  by  the 
announcement  of  a real  live  Bishop;  and  those  who 
came  had  not  had  time  to  get  small  change ; and  so 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION, \ 


19 


at  the  end  of  the  sermon, with  the  best  intentions  and 
a natural  dislike  to  pass  the  basket  without  giving 
anything,  they  found  themselves  devoid  of  the  ne- 
cessary threepenny-bits  and  sixpences.  So,  when 
Mr.  Mackenzie,  the  tall  lawyer,  who  always  held  the 
basket  lined  with  green  baize  at  the  north  door, 
emptied  its  contents  on  the  vestry  table,  and  the 
other  baskets  added  their  quota,  there  was  but  a 
poor  show;  and  Mr.  Peters,  kind  man,  when  Mr. 
Malone  was  not  looking,  slipped  a sovereign  out  of 
his  waistcoat  pocket  to  add  to  the  heap,  more  for 
the  honor  of  Martel  than  from  interest  in  the  Mis- 
sion; and  he  explained  that  unfortunately  some  of 
his  best  people  were  not  at  church,  and  that  they 
had  had  a collection  so  very  recently,  and  that  he 
hoped  that  next  time  the  Bishop  was  in  those  parts 
— but  here  a warning  glance  from  Mr.  Malone  cut 
him  short,  and  he  did  not  commit  himself  further. 

What  a fortunate  thing  it  was  that  Mr.  Peters 
had  a curate  of  such  high  principle! 

“Who  was  the  old  woman  sitting  in  front  of  Wy- 
att?” John  Rossiter  asked  his  mother,  when  the 
brougham  door  was  closed  and  they  were  going 
down  High  Street  slowly,  with  the  drag  on,  for  it 
was  very  steep,  with  a blurred  view  of  lights  and 
moving  umbrellas  through  the  rainy  windows. 

“My  dear  John,  do  you  suppose  I know  every 
old  woman  in  Martel?” 


20 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION, . 


“No;  but  I thought  you  might  have  noticed  her; 
her  face  was  a sight  to  see  in  the  sermon.” 

“Well,  John,”  Mrs.  Rossitter  answered  rather 
fretfully,  feeling  conscious  of  a temporary  oblivion 
on  her  own  part  in  the  middle  of  the  sermon,  “it 
was  no  wonder  if  any  one  went  to  sleep ; the  church 
was  so  hot;  I felt  quite  faint  myself.” 

And  she  felt  whether  her  bonnet  had  got  pushed 
on  one  side,  and  hoped  she  had  not  wakened  with 
a snore. 

John  laughed:  “I  don’t  mean  a sight  to  see  that 
way,  mother;  that’s  not  so  very  unusual  at  Martel; 
but  it  was  her  absorbed  interest  that  struck  me  as 
something  out  of  the  way.” 

“It  must  have  been  one  of  the  young  women  at 
Purts.” 

“My  dear  mother,  don’t  insult  those  elegant  crea- 
tures by  supposing  they  would  put  on  anything  half 
so  respectable  as  my  old  woman’s  bonnet;  they 
would  rather  die  first.” 

“Then  I don’t  know  who  it  could  have  been,  un- 
less it  was  Miss  Toosey — lavender  ribbons  and  hair 
done  in  a little  curl  on  each  side?  Ah,  then  it  is. 
Her  father  was  old  Toosey  the  doctor;  he  was  par- 
ish doctor  when  we  first  came  to  Brooklands:  and 
she  was  a pretty  young  girl,  in  a green  spencer; 
and  your  father  used  to  say” — 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


21 


And  here  followed  reminiscences  unconnected 
with  Miss  Toosey’s  Mission,  which  I need  not 
chronicle. 

Mrs.  Rossitter  lived  two  miles  from  Martel,  at 
Brooklands,  and  she  attended  church  regularly 
twice  on  Sunday,  “because  it  is  a duty  to  set  a right 
example  to  the  lower  orders.”  So  the  lower  or- 
ders around  Brooklands — mostly,  as  far  as  the  men 
were  concerned,  smoking  their  pipes  in  their  shirt 
sleeves,  hanging  over  a pigsty,  or  nursing  their 
babies;  mostly,  as  far  as  the  women  were  concern- 
ed, waxing  fierce  in  preparations  for  dinner,  or  gos- 
siping with  their  next-door  neighbors — saw  the 
Brooklands  brougham  pass  four  times  on  Sunday; 
and  the  children  ran  after  and  shouted  “Whip  be- 
hind!” and  the  babies  were  possessed  with  suicidal 
interest  in  the  horses'  feet,  and  toddled,  or  crawled, 
or  rolled  into  imminent  danger,  according  to  their 
age  or  walking  capacities. 

When  John  Rossitter  was  down  from  London,  he 
went  with  his  mother;  and  when  he  was  not,  she 
went  alone,  because  Humphrey  altogether  declined 
to  go. 

“It  was  more  than  any  fellow  could  stand,”  he 
said,  gnawing  his  yellow  mustache,  and  looking 
down  at  his  mother  with  those  handsome,  idle  gray 
eys  of  his,  which  were  the  most  convincing  of  argu- 


22 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


ments,  before  which  all  her  excellent  reasons  for 
attending  church — such  as  “what  people  would 
say,”  and  “how  would  it  look,”  and  “what  a bad 
example  it  would  set,”  if  he  did  not  go — crumbled 
to  ashes.  She  found  John  more  amenable;  but  I 
do  not  on  this  account  credit  John  with  any  great 
superiority  to  Humphrey  only  that  he  had  greater 
powers  of  endurance,  and  was  not  so  sure  as 
Humphrey  that  the  very  surest  way  to  please  his 
mother  was  to  please  himself.  Then,  too,  Sunday 
mornings  at  Brooklands  were  apt  to  hang  heavy  on 
his  hands,  for  he  had  not  the  resources  of  Humph- 
rey. He  could  not  spend  an  hour  or  two  in  con- 
tented contemplation  of  a family  of  fox-terrier  pup- 
pies; he  found  that  “the  points”  of  the  very  clever- 
est little  mare  in  creation  palled  after  five  minutes’ 
serious  consideration,  and  that  the  conversation  of 
grooms  and  stablemen  still  left  a good  deal  to  be 
desired  in  the  way  of  entertainment;  in  fact,  he  had 
none  of  the  elevated  and  refined  tastes  of  an  Eng- 
lish country  gentleman;  so  John  Rossitter  went  to 
church  with  his  mother,  and  endured,  with  equal 
stoicism,  sermons  from  Mr.  Peters,  Mr.  Glover,  or 
Mr.  Malone.  Pie  did  not  yawn  in  the  undisguised 
manner  of  Dr.  Gardener  Jones  opposite,  who  let 
every  one  see  what  a fine  set  of  teeth  he  had,  and 
healthy  red  tongue,  at  short  intervals;  he  did  not 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


23 


go  to  sleep  and  snore  like  old  Mrs.  Robbins,  and 
one  or  two  more;  but  when  the  regulation  half  hour 
was  over,  his  eyebrows  would  rise  and  the  calm  in- 
attention of  his  face  became  ruffled,  and  his  hand 
move  quietly  to  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  his  watch 
appear,  an  action  which  Mr.  Glover  felt  acutely  in 
every  fibre,  though  his  back  was  turned  to  John 
Rossitter,  and  he  would  grow  red  to  the  very  fin- 
ger-tips, and  his  “finally,”  “lastly,”  and  “in  conclu- 
sion” would  get  sadly  muddled  in  his  nervous  ef- 
forts to  make  short  cuts  to  the  end.  So  strong  had 
this  habit  of  inattention  become,  that  it  would  have 
required  something  much  more  striking  than  our 
missionary  Bishop  to  startle  him  out  of  it;  and  itwas 
only  the  sight  of  Miss  Toosey’s  face  that  brought 
back  his  thoughts  from  their  wanderings,  to  Martel 
church  and  its  sleepy  congregation,  and  the  Bish- 
op’s voice  from  the  high  pulpit.  He  could  see  her 
through  a vista  of  heads  between  Mr.  Cooper’s  bald 
head  and  Miss  Purts’s  feathers  and  pink  rosebuds; 
now  and  then  the  view  was  cut  off  by  Mrs.  Robbins 
giving  a convulsive  nod,  or  one  of  the  little  Miss 
Coopers  fidgeting  up  a broad-brimmed  hat. 

“Was  the  sermon  so  eloquent?”  John  Rossitter 
wondered.  Certainly  that  listening,  rapt  face  was 
— quite  a common,  little,  wizen,  old-maidish  face, 
with  nothing  intellectual  or  noble  about  it,  and  yet 


24: 


MISS  TOOSEY1  S MISSION. 


transfigured  into  something  like  beauty  with  the 
brightness  of  a reflected  light.  Don’t  you  know 
how  sometimes  a scrap  of  broken  glass  on  a dust 
heap  will  catch  the  sunlight  and  shine  with  quite 
dazzling  brilliancy,  and  how  a little  smutty  raindrop 
in  a London  court  will  hold  the  sun  and  a gleaming 
changing  rainbow  in  its  little  mirror? 


CHAPTER  III. 

“Where  does  Miss  Toosey  live?”  said  John  Ros- 
sitter  on  Monday  morning.  “I  think  I may  as  well 
go  and  call  on  her,  as  I have  nothing  else  to  do.” 

I do  not  know  what  impelled  him  to  go.  It  is 
impossible  to  define  motives  accurately,  even  our 
own.  We  cannot  say  sometimes  why  we  do  a 
thing;  every  reason  may  be  against  it — common 
sense,  habit,  inclination,  experience,  duty,  all  may 
be  pulling  the  other  way,  and  yet  we  tear  ourselves 
loose,  and  do  the  thing,  urged  by  some  invisible 
motive  of  whose  existence  we  are  hardly  conscious. 
And  if  it  is  so  in  ourselves,  how  much  more  difficult 
to  dissect  other  people’s  motives ! and  it  is  generally 
safer  to  leave  the  cause  alone  altogether,  and  only 
regard  the  effects  produced.  So  it  is  enough  to 
say  that,  on  that  Monday  morning,  Miss  Toosey 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


25 


heard  the  rattle  of  wheels  along  North  Street,  and, 
looking  out,  saw  the  Rossitters’  dog-cart  and  high- 
stepping  chestnut  mare,  which,  to  her  extreme  sur- 
prise, stopped  in  front  of  her  door. 

“Something  wrong  with  the  harness,”  she  con- 
cluded, as  the  little  groom  flew  out  and  stood  at  the 
horse’s  head,  with  his  arms  crossed. 

“Bless  the  child!”  Miss  Toosey  said,  “as  if  the 
creature  could  not  have  swallowed  him  at  a mouth- 
ful, top-boots  and  all!” 

But  her  observation  of  the  groom  from  the  bed- 
room window  was  interrupted  by  a loud  knock 
at  the  door,  and  before  she  had  time  to  tie 
her  cap-strings,  or  put  a pin  in  the  back  of  her  col- 
lar, Betty  came  rushing  up,  out  of  breath  and  red- 
faced, with  a card  held  in  the  corner  of  her  apron, 
bearing  the  name,  “Mr.  John  Rossitter.” 

“And  he  said  he  hoped  as  how  you’d  excuse  his 
calling  so  early — and  a flower  in  his  button-hole 
beautiful,”  added  Betty  in  a snorting  whisper,  dis- 
tinctly audible  in  the  parlor  below. 

Then  followed  some  hasty  opening  and  shutting 
of  drawers,  and  hurried  footsteps;  and  then  Miss 
Toosey  descended,  rather  fluttered  and  nervous, 
with  her  Sunday  cap  on,  and  a clean  pocket  hand- 
kerchief. 

“I  must  introduce  myself,  Miss  Toosey,”  John 
said,  “for  I dare  say  you  have  quite  forgotten  me.” 


26 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


“Forgotten  you, Mr.  John?  Why  I knewyou  long 
before  you  were  born,  or  thought  of.  Oh,  dear!’’ 
said  Miss  Toosey,  “I  don’t  mean  that,  of  course; 
but  I knew  your  mamma  before  she  was  born” — 

“I  ought  to  apologize,”  John  struck  in,  anxious 
to  save  Miss  Toosey  from  any  further  floundering 
in  the  bogs  of  memory,  “for  coming  so  early;  but 
the  fact  is,  that  I am  going  up  to  London  this  even- 
ing; and  my  mother  tells  me  that  Dr.  Toosey  had  a 
very  capital  cure  for  toothache, and  she  thought  you 
would  very  likely  have  kept  it,  and  would  let  me 
have  it.” 

Impostor  that  he  was!  looking  at  her  with  such 
serious,  earnest  eyes,  when  he  had  composed  this 
ridiculous  and  barefaced  excuse  for  calling  as  he 
came  along. 

Miss  Toosey  racked  her  brain  to  remember  this 
renowned  remedy,  and  could  only  recall  an  occa- 
sion when  she  had  toothache,  and  her  father 
dragged  out  a double  tooth,  with  great  exertion 
and  bad  language  on  his  part,  and  great  pain  and 
many  tears  on  hers. 

“I  cannot  quite  remember  the  remedy  your 
'mamma  means;  but  I have  a book  full  of  very  valu- 
able prescriptions,  which  I will  find  at  once.” 

“Pray  don't  trouble,  Miss  Toosey;  I have  no 
toothache  at  present;  but  if  you  would  let  my 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


27 


mother  have  it  some  time  at  your  leisure,  I should 
be  greatly  obliged/’ 

And  then  they  talked  for  five  minutes  about 
toothache;  and  John,  smiling,  showed  such  white, 
even  teeth  that  you  would  have  fancied  that  he  had 
not  had  much  trouble  with  them;  and  you  would 
have  fancied  right. 

“What  a curious  book  you  have  here,”  John 
Rossitter  said,  looking  at  a book  lying  open  on  the 
table.  It  was  an  old  book  called  “Voyages  and 
Adventures;”  and  it  was  open  at  an  awful  picture 
of  a cannibal  feast,  with  a man  being  roasted  in 
front  of  a fire,  and  a group  of  savages  dancing  fero- 
ciously around,  in  all  the  horrors  of  war-paint  and 
feathers,  and  in  a simple  but  effective  costume  of  a 
necklace,  a fringe  round  the  waist,  a ring  in  the 
nose,  and  a penny  in  the  under  lip. 

Miss  Toosey  blushed;  she  was  not  used  to  fash- 
ionable picture  galleries  where  Eves  and  Venuses, 
in  unadorned  beauty,  are  admired  and  criticised  by 
the  sensible  young  people  of  the  present  day. 

“Though  to  be  sure,”  she  said  afterwards,  “it’s 
not  so  bad,  as  the  poor  things  are  black,  so  they 
don’t  look  quite  so  naked;  and  I always  think  a 
white  pig  is  a more  indecent  looking  creature  than 
a black  one.” 

So  she  turned  his  attention  with  great  tact  to  the 


28 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


atlas  that  was  also  lying  open  on  the  table.  It  was 
the  atlas  that  was  in  use  fifty  years  ago,  and  which 
had  been  bought  for  Miss  Toosey  when  she  went 
to  Miss  Singer's  “ Academy  for  Young  Ladies"  to 
be  finished.  At  this  abode  of  learning,  she  had 
been  taught  to  make  wax  flowers  and  do  crochet, 
to  speak  a few  words  of  what  was  supposed  to  be 
French,  and  to  play  a tune  or  two  laboriously  on 
the  piano,  an  education  which  was  considered 
very  elegant  and  elaborate  at  that  time,  but  would 
hardly,  I am  afraid,  qualify  her  for  one  of  the  Ox- 
ford and  Cambridge  local  examinations,  or  even 
for  a very  high  standard  at  a national  school.  She 
liad  also  learnt  a little  geography  and  the  use  of  the 
globes,  but  not  enough  to  survive  for  fifty  years; 
and  she  felt  quite  at  sea  this  morning,  when  she 
reached  down  the  long-unused  atlas  to  find  the  po- 
sition of  the  diocese  of  Nawaub,  and,  after  long 
study,  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  must 
be  on  the  celestial  globe,  which  had  always  been  a 
puzzle  to  her. 

It  was  no  wonder  that  she  had  not  been  able  to 
find  Nawaub,  for  where  the  towns  and  rivers  and 
mountains  and  plains  stood,  which  the  Bishop  had 
described,  there  was  only  marked  on  the  map  “Un- 
discovered territory,"  a vague-looking  spot  alto- 
gether, gradually  shading  off  into  the  sea  without 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION. 


29 


any  distinct  red  or  blue  line  to  mark  the  extent  of 
terra  firma,  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world. 

John  Rossitter  showed  her  where  he  imagined 
Nawaub  to  be,  and  then  inquired  if  she  were  inter- 
ested in  Missions. 

“Well,  Mr.  John/’  Miss  Toosey  said,  “l  don’t 
mind  telling  you,  though  I have  not  told  any  one 
else,  except  Betty;  but  I've  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
out  to  Nawaub  as  soon  as  I can  arrange  every- 
thing.” 

“As  a missionary,  Miss  Toosey  ?” 

“Yes,  Mr.  John,  as  a missionary/' 

She  spoke  quite  quietly,  as  if  she  were  not  sixty- 
five,  with  a tendency  to  asthma,  and  more  than  a 
tendency  to  rheumatism, — a nervous,  fidgety  old 
maid,  to  whom  a journey  to  Bristol  was  an  event 
to  flutter  the  nerves,  and  cause  sleepless  nights,  and 
take  away  the  appetite  for  some  time  beforehand. 
I think  the  very  magnitude  of  her  resolution  took 
away  her  attention  from  the  terrible  details,  just  as 
we  lose  sight  of  the  precipices,  chasms,  and  rocks 
that  lie  between,  when  we  are  looking  to  the  moun- 
tain top.  The  way  to  Bristol  was  beset  with  dan- 
gers, such  as  losing  the  train,  getting  wrong 
change  when  you  take  your  ticket,  the  draughti- 
ness  of  the  waiting-room,  the  incivility  of  the  por- 
ters, the  trains  starting  from  unexpected  platforms, 


30 


MISS  7 VOSEY'S  MISSION. 


the  difficulty  of  opening  doors  and  shutting  win- 
dows, the  constant  tendency  to  get  into  smoking 
carriages  by  mistake,  not  to  speak  of  railway  acci- 
dents, and  murderers  and  thieves  for  traveling  com- 
panions ; but  these  were  lost  sight  of  in  the  prospect 
of  a journey  to  the  other  end  of  the  world,  full  of 
real,  substantial  dangers  of  which  she  was  ignorant. 
This  ignorance  was  no  doubt  a great  help  to  her 
in  some  ways ; she  could  not  form  the  slightest  idea 
of  what  a missionary’s  life  really  is;  nor  can  you, 
reader,  nor  can  I,  though  we  may  have  read  mis- 
sionary books  by  the  dozen,  which  Miss  Toosey 
had  not.  But  this  same  ignorance,  while  it  cov- 
ered up  many  real  difficulties,  also  painted  gro- 
tesque horrors  before  Miss  Toosey’s  mind,  which 
might  well  have  frightened  any  old  maiden  lady  of 
sixty-five.  She  mixed  up  “Greenland’s  icy  moun- 
tains” and  “Afric’s  coral  strands”  with  great  impar- 
tiality in  her  ideas  of  Nawaub,  forming  such  a fright- 
ful combination  of  sandy  deserts  and  icebergs,  lions 
and  white  bears,  naked  black  savages  and  snow 
drifts,  that  the  stoutest  heart  might  have  quailed 
at  the  prospect;  and  yet,  when  Miss  Toosey  came 
down  to  breakfast  that  morning,  with  her  mind 
firmly  made  up  to  the  venture,  her  little  maid, 
Betty,  did  not  notice  anything  remarkable  about 
her,  except  that  her  cap  was  put  on  wrong  side  in 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


31 


front, — which  was  not  a very  unusual  occurrence 
— and  that  she  stirred  up  her  tea  with  her  specta- 
cles once.  Her  interview  with  Betty  had  been 
rather  upsetting.  Betty  was  not  quick  at  taking 
m new  ideas;  and  she  had  got  it  so  firmly  into  her 
head  that  Miss  Toosey  was  wishing  to  administer  a 
reproof  to  her  about  the  handle  of  a certain  vegeta- 
ble dish,  “which  come  to  pieces  in  my  hand  as  was 
that  cracked,”  that  it  was  some  time  before  she 
could  be  led  to  think  differently;  but  when  at  last  a 
ray  of  the  truth  penetrated  her  mental  fog,  her  feel- 
ings can  only  be  described  by  her  own  ejaculation, 
“Lor,  now!”  which  I fear  may  offend  ears  polite. 
She  had  not  been  at  church  the  evening  before, 
having  stepped  round  to  see  her  mother,  who  was 
“doing  nicely,  thank  you,  with  her  fourteenth,  a 
fine  boy,  as  kep'  on  with  fits  constant,  till  Mr. 
Glover  half  christened  him,  which  James  Joseph  is 
his  name,  and  better  ever  since.” 

So  it  required  all  Miss  Toosey's  eloquence  to  put 
her  scheme  before  Betty's  plain  common  sense,  so 
as  to  appear  anything  but  a very  crazy  notion  after 
all;  and  it  was  not  till  after  half  an  hour's  severe 
talking,  and  more  than  one  tear  falling  on  the  two 
and  a half  pounds  of  neck  of  mutton  that  Betty 
gave  in,  which  she  did  by  throwing  her  apron  over 
her  head,  and  declaring,  with  a sob,  that  if  Miss 


32 


MISS  TOO  SKY'S  MISSION. 


Toosey  “would  go  for  to  do  such  a thing,  she 
(Betty)  would  take  and  go  too,  that  she  would;” 
and  Miss  Toosey  had  to  entreat  her  to  remember 
her  poor  mother  before  making  up  her  mind  to 
such  a step. 

But  to  come  back  to  John  Rossitter.  He  was  a 
barrister,  you  must  know,  and  used  to  examine  wit- 
nesses, and  to  turn  their  heads  inside  out  to  pick 
out  the  grains  of  truth  concealed  there;  and  then, 
too,  he  had  a great  talent  for  listening,  which  is  a 
rarer  and  more  valuable  gift  even  than  that  of 
fluent  speech,  which  he  also  had  at  command  on 
occasion.  He  had,  too,  a sympathetic,  attentive  in- 
terest in  his  face,  if  it  was  assumed,  would  have 
made  a great  actor  of  him,  and  that  opened  the  peo- 
ple’s hearts  to  him,  as  the  sun  does  the  flowers.  And 
so  Miss  Toosey  found  herself  laying  her  mittened 
hand  on  his  coat  sleeve,  and  looking  up  into  his 
eyes  for  sympathy,  and  calling  him  “my  dear,” 
“just  for  all  the  world,”  she  said  ,“as  if  he  had  been 
an  old  woman  too.” 

And  what  did  he  think  of  it  all?  Was  he  laugh- 
ing at  her?  Certainly  now  and  then  there  was  a 
little  twitch  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth,  and  a spar- 
kle in  his  eye,  and  once  he  laughed  aloud  in  uncon- 
cealed amusement;  but  I like  John  Rossitter  too 
well  to  believe  that  he  was  doing  what  Dr.  Gar- 


MISS  TOOSEY  S MISSION. 


33 


dener  Jones  called  “getting  a rise  out  of  the  old 
lady.”  It  was  so  very  easy  to  make  fun  of  Miss 
Toosey,  and  draw  her  out  and  show  up  her  absurdi- 
ties,— even  Mr.  Glover,  who  was  not  a wit,  could  be 
exquisitely  funny  at  her  expense.  But  John  Ros- 
sitter  was  too  much  of  a sportsman  to  aim  with  his 
small-bore  rifle  at  a little  sparrow  in  a hedgerow;  he 
left  that  sort  of  game  for  the  catapults  and  pop- 
guns of  the  yokels. 

And  so  Miss  Toosey  confided  to  him  all  the  diffi- 
culties that  had  already  come  crowding  into  her 
head  as  she  sat  over  her  work  that  morning,  any 
one  of  which  would  have  occupied  her  mind  for 
days  at  any  other  time, — the  giving  notice  to  leave 
her  house,  the  disposal  of  the  furniture, — “and  you 
know,  Mr.'  John,  I have  some  really  valuable  pic- 
tures and  things;”  and  she  could  not  trust  herself 
to  glance  at  the  portrait  of  old  Toosey  over  the  fire- 
place, in  a black  satin  waistcoat  and  bunch  of  seals, 
a frilled  shirt,  a high  complexion,  and  shiny  black 
hair,  with  Corinthian  pillars  behind  him,  lest  her 
eyes,  already  brimful,  should  overflow.  She  even 
consulted  him  as  to  whether  it  would  be  worth 
while  to  order  in  more  coal,  and  lamented  that  she 
should  have  taken  her  sitting  in  church  for  another 
whole  year  only  last  Saturday.  And  then,  without 
quite  knowing  how,  she  found  herself  discussing 


34 


MISS  TOOSEY’ S MISSION. 


that  all-important  subject,  dress,  with  John  Rossit- 
ter. 

“Though  to  be  sure,  Mr.  John,  how  should  you 
know  about  such  things  ?” 

“Indeed,  Miss  Toosey,  Fm  not  so  ignorant  as 
you  think;  and  I quite  agree  with  you  that  nothing 
looks  so  nice  as  a black  silk  on  Sunday.” 

And  Miss  Toosey  at  once  resolved  to  put  a new 
braid  round  the  bottom  of  the  skirt  as  a good  be- 
ginning of  her  preparations. 

“IVe  got  upstairs,”  Miss  Toosey  said  reflectively, 
“a  muslin  dress  that  I wore  when  Rosina  Smith 
was  married.  You  remember  Rosina  Smith,  Mr. 
John?  No,  of  course  not!  She  must  have  mar- 
ried before  you  were  born.  Sweet  girl,  Mr.  John, 
very  sweet!  That  dress  has  been  rough  dried  for 
thirty  years,  and  it's  not  quite  in  the  fashion  that 
ladies  wear  now;  in  fact,  the  skirt  has  only  three 
breadths,  which  is  scanty,  you  know,  as  dresses  go; 
but  I thought,”  and  there  Miss  Toosey  glanced 
timidly  at  the  picture  of  the  cannibals,  which  still 
lay  open,  “that  perhaps  it  would  not  matter  out 
there.” 

“No,  indeed,  Miss  Toosey,”  John  answered,  “I 
should  think  that  three  breadths  would  appear  lib- 
eral and  ample  allowance  among  people  whose 
skirts” — he  was  going  to  say,  “are  conspicuous 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


35 


from  their  absence/’  but  from  Miss  Toosey’s 
heightened  color  he  changed  it  to  “are  not  court 
trains.” 

The  next  question  was  whether  she  had  better 
have  it  got  up  before  leaving  Martel. 

“It  might  get  crumpled  in  packing;  but  then, 
how  can  one  guess  what  sort  of  laundresses  one 
may  find  at  the  other  side  of  the  world, — not  used, 
most  likely,  to  getting  up  fine  things.” 

“I  have  heard,”  said  John  very  seriously,  “that 
in  some  parts  missionaries  try  as  much  as  possible 
to  become  like  the  nations  they  are  wishing  to 
convert,  and  that  the  Roman  Catholic  priests  in 
China  shave  their  heads  and  wear  pigtails.” 

“Yes,  Mr.  John,  I have  heard  that,”  Miss  Too- 
sey  said;  ‘^and  their  wives”  (you  see  she  did  not 
rightly  understand  the  arrangements  of  our  sister 
Church  as  to  the  celibacy  of  the  clergy)  “cripple 
their  feet  in  small  shoes,  blacken  their  teeth,  and 
let  their  finger-nails  grow.” 

“I  suppose,”  says  John,  drawing  “Voyages  and 
Adventures”  nearer,  and  looking  at  the  pictures  re- 
flectively, “that  the  Nawaub  missionaries  don’t  go 
in  for  that  sort  of  thing.” 

Miss  Toosey  grew  red  to  the  very  finger-tips, 
and  her  back  stiffened  with  horror. 

“No,  Mr.  John,  there  is  a point  beyond  which  I 
cannot  go!” 


36 


MISS  TOOSEV'S  MISSION. 


'"To  be  sure!  to  be  sure!”  said  John  consolingly, 
“and  you  see  there  were  no  signs  of  anything  of  the 
kind  about  the  Bishop.” 

'Then  there  is  the  food,”  Miss  Toosey  went  on, 
reminded  of  the  subject  by  a whiff  of  roast  mutton 
from  the  kitchen;  ‘Tm  afraid  they  are  cannibals, 
and  I don't  think  I ever  could  get  used  to  such  a 
thing,  for  I have  never  been  able  to  touch  sucking 
pig  since  an  uncle  of  mine  said  it  was  just  like  a 
baby,  though  of  course  he  was  only  in  joke.” 

John  reassured  her  on  this  point.  But  now  he 
presented  quite  a new  difficulty  to  her  mind. 

"Do  you  understand  the  Nawaub  language?  I 
am  told  it  is  difficult  to  acquire.” 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Miss  Toosey  that  these 
mysterious  people,  who  were  a sort  of  combination 
of  monkey  and  chimney  sweep,  spoke  a language 
of  their  own  which  she  could  not  understand,  and 
that  they  might  not  be  able  to  comprehend  the  pure 
Somersetshire  English  with  which  she  meant  to 
convert  them.  She  had  never  been  brought  much 
in  contact  with  foreigners,  so  that  she  had  never 
realized  fully  the  effect  of  the  Tower  of  Babel.  One 
day  a French  beggar  had  come  to  the  door,  and 
Miss  Toosey  had  summoned  up  courage  to  pro- 
nounce the  magic  words,  “Parlez  vous  Francais ,” 
which  was  one  of  the  sentences  she  had  learned  at 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION. 


37 


Miss  Singers's;  and  the  beggar  (the  French  being 
proverbially  quick-witted)  had  recognized  his  na- 
tive tongue;  and  thereupon  ensued  such  a torrent 
of  rapid  speech  and  violent  gesticulation,  such  gab- 
bling and  grimacing  that  Miss  Toosey  was  quite 
frightened,  and  relapsed  into  plain  English  when 
she  could  edge  in  another  word.  But  then  this  im- 
pudent fellow  pretended  he  did  not  understand, 
and  kept  on  saying,  “Not  know  de  English  vot  you 
mean,"  though  Miss  Toosey  spoke  slowly  and  very 
loud,  and  even  finally  tried  a little  broken  English, 
which  must  be  easier  to  foreigners  than  the  ordin- 
ary style  of  speaking.  But  the  man  was  obstinate, 
and  went  away  at  last  shaking  his  head  and  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  in  a way  which  Miss  Toosey  felt 
was  very  impudent;  “but  then,  poor  creature,  he 
may  have  been  a papist." 

“I've  not  thought  about  that,  Mr.  John;  but  I 
know  that  savages  always  like  beads  and  looking- 
glasses,  though  what  pleasure  such  remarkably 
plain  people  can  get  out  of  a looking-glass  I can’t 
imagine.  But  I've  a lot  of  beads  put  away  in  one  of 
my  boxes  up-stairs  when  I've  time  for  a regular 
good  turn-out;  and  as  for  looking-glasses,  I saw 
some  the  other  day  at  Gaiter's,  with  gilt  frames, 
for  a penny,  that  make  one's  nose  look  crooked, 
and  one  eye  larger  than  the  other,  that  I think  will 
do  nicely." 


38 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION. 


"By  Jove!”  says  John,  "an  uncommonly  good 
idea— the  very  thing!  I’ll  take  a look  at  them  as 
I go  home,  which  I must  do  now,  or  I shall  be  late 
for  lunch.” 

But  before  leaving  he  advised  her  not  to  do  any- 
thing in  a hurry,  but  before  taking  any  decided 
step,  such  as  having  her  dress  starched,  or  giving 
notice  to  leave  her  house,  or  laying  in  a stock  of 
looking-glasses,  to  consult  some  old  friend,  on 
whose  opinion  she  could  rely. 

"There’s  Mackenzie,”  he  said,  "why  not  go  to 
him?” 

But  Miss  Toosey  had  an  uncomfortable  feeling 
about  lawyers,  connecting  them  with  verses  in  the 
gospels  beginning  with  "woe;”  and  though  the 
little  Mackenzies  were  her  great  friends  and  con- 
stant visitors,  she  avoided  their  father.  She  sug- 
gested Miss  Baker;  but  when  she  added  that  she 
was  "a  really  Christian  person,”  John  discouraged 
the  idea,  and  they  finally  agreed  that  she  should 
consult  Mr.  Peters,  who  had  known  her  nearly  all 
her  life. 

"He’s  not  a bad  sort  of  old  fellow  out  of  church,” 
John  said,  rather  shocking  Miss  Toosey  by  his 
want  of  reverence  for  the  rector;  "and  he  has  got 
some  sense  in  his  head  as  well  as  good  nature.  So 
you  go  to  him,  Miss  Toosey,  and  the  next  time  I 


MISS  TOO  SET'S  MISSION, \ 


39 


come  home,  I'll  come  in  and  have  another  crack 
with  you,  if  you  are  not  off  to  the  North  Pole  or 
the  Moon.” 

John  Rossiter  smiled  more  than  once  as  he  drove 
home  in  the  dog-cart,  at  the  recollection  of  Miss 
Toosey’s  confidences;  but  I fear  my  readers  may 
have  grown  impatient  of  the  absurdities  of  an  ig- 
norant old  woman,  who  had  got  a craze  in  her 
head.  Yes,  she  was  old  and  poor  and  weak  and 
ignorant,  it  is  quite  true.  It  was  a very  contempt- 
ible barley-loaf  which  she  had  to  offer,  compared 
with  your  fine,  white,  wheaten  cake  of  youth  and 
riches  and  strength  and  learning;  but  remember 
she  offered  her  best  freely,  willingly,  faithfully;  and 
when  once  a thing  is  offered  it  is  no  longer  the 
little  barley-loaf  in  the  lad's  hand,  but  the  miracu- 
lous satisfying  Bread  of  Heaven  in  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  of  the  Harvest,  more  than  sufficient  for  the 
hungry  multitude. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

“You  are  making  fun  of  me,  Mr.  John.” 

“I  am  incapable  of  such  an  action,  Miss  Toosey.” 
Six  months  have  passed  since  my  last  chapter, 
and  John  Rossiter  has  paid  many  visits  to  the  little 


40 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


house  in  North  Street.  Indeed,  he  rarely  came  to 
Brooklands  without  going  to  see  Miss  Toosey, 
drawn  by  a strange  attraction  which  he»hardly  un- 
derstood himself;  though  he  once  told  his  mother 
that  he  had  fallen  in  love,  and  asked  her  how  she 
would  like  Miss  Toosey  for  a daughter-in-law. 

Miss  Toosey  is  still  at  Martel,  and  likely  to  re- 
main so.  Her  interview  with  Mr.  Peters  put  an 
end  to  her  idea  of  becoming  a missionary,  as 
John  Rossiter  quite  expected,  and  also  provided  the 
rector  with  a good  joke,  over  which  he  laughs  till 
the  tears  run  down  his  cheeks.  It  was  a very  alarm- 
ing interview  to  Miss  Toosey  altogether,  as  the 
rector  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  coughing  in  the 
middle,  and  sputtered  and  choked  till  Miss  Toosey 
longed  to  pat  him  on  the  back,  if  she  had  dared  to 
venture  on  such  familiarity  with  a Church  digni- 
tary; and  for  many  months  she  puzzled  Mrs. 
Peters  by  anxious  inquiries  after  the  rector's  cold 
and  the  sad  delicacy  of  his  throat,  and  advised 
gargling  with  port  wine  and  alum,  and  other  de- 
coctions of  marvellous  efficacy. 

Miss  Toosey’s  missionary  ardor  was  by  no  means 
damped,  only  it  was  turned  into  a fresh  channel. 
“Your  money,"  the  Bishop  had  said,  “was  another 
of  those  barley-loaves  of  every-day  life  that  most 
people  had  in  some  proportion  to  offer;"  thinking 


MISS  TOOSEV’S  MISSION. 


41 


principally  of  the  luxury  and  extravagance  of  fash- 
ionable life,  and  of  the  superfluity  that  might  so 
well  be  cast  into  his  empty  treasury.  There  was 
not  much  luxury  or  extravagance  in  the  little  house 
in  North  Street ; indeed,  it  was  only  by  close  man- 
agement that  two  ends  could  be  brought  to  meet ; 
and  even  in  little  charities  to  poor  neighbors  (in 
finitesimally  small  though  they  might  be)  she  was 
never  in  danger  of  offering  to  God  that  which  cost 
her  nothing.  So  it  was  an  unsatisfactory  thing  to 
review  her  expenditure,  with  a view  to  greater  econ- 
omy, “with  butchers’  meat  quite  a fancy  price,  and 
everything  else  to  match  but  she  was  not  easily 
daunted,  as  you  know,  and  she  applied  to  Mr. 
Peters  to  procure  her  a box  in  which  to  collect  for 
' the  Nawaub  Mission.  She  did  not  allow  him  to 
forget  it  or  to  convince  her  that  a Church  Mission- 
ary box,  or  one  for  the  Irish  Society,  would  do 
quite  as  well ; and  when  at  last  she  had  it,  she  car- 
ried it  home  with  great  pride,  and  gave  it  the  place 
of  honor  in  the  centre  of  her  table  on  the  bead  mat, 
in  place  of  the  lava  inkstand  that  had  been  one  of 
Mrs.  Toosey’s  wedding  presents. 

It  was  this  box  that  was  now  forming  the  sub- 
ject of  conversation  between  her  and  Mr.  Rossitter, 
for  she  was  to  take  it  that  very  afternoon  to  the 
rectory  to  be  opened,  and  the  contents  were  to  be 


42 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


forwarded  to  the  Bishop.  John  had  been  com- 
menting on  its  weight,  and  had  told  Miss  Toosey 
that  she  would  be  obliged  to  have  the  omnibus 
from  the  “Hare  and  Hounds”  to  take  it  to  the 
rectory,  or  at  any  rate  a wheelbarrow  and  a strong 
man.  And  so  it  came  that  she  accused  him  of 
laughing  at  her. 

“But  it  really  is  very  heavy.  I wonder  you  are 
not  afraid  of  thieves  coming  to  carry  it  off  at 
night.” 

“Well,  Mr.  John,  I was  rather  nervous  now  and 
then.  There  have  been  very  odd  noises  at  night, 
and  though  Betty  says  it's  the  mice,  I can’t  always 
quite  believe  it.  I always  hide  the  box  when  I go 
out,  and  now  and  then  I forget  where  I put  it;  and, 
oh,  dear!  what  a search  we  had  the  other  day!  I 
was  in  such  a fright,  and  where  do  you  think  it 
was?  Why,  behind  the  shavings  in  the  fireplace. 
Wasn’t  it  a capital  place?  No  thief  would  have 
dreamt  of  looking  there.” 

“It’s  a good  thing  that  you  are  going  to  empty  it 
to-day,  or  I might  have  been  tempted  to  play  burg- 
lar to-night.” 

“Well,  you  see,  Mr.  John,  it’s  not  really  so  valu- 
able as  you  might  think,  for  it’s  chiefly  pence  and  a 
good  sprinkling  of  farthings,  and  they  don’t  come 
up  to  much  of  a sum.  You  see  I have  been  obliged 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


43 


to  take  a little  here  and  a little  there,  not  being  rich, 
Mr.  John,  or  having  much  to  spare.  One  thing  I 
always  put  in,  'Your  change,  with  thanks;’  don’t 
you  know  those  pretty  little  envelopes  that  they  put 
pence  in  at  Knight’s  and  Jones’s  and  one  or  two 
other  places,  with  'Your  change,  with  thanks,’  in 
mauve  on  the  back?  I always  took  that  for  my 
box,  and  I felt  quite  pleased  when  they  had  not  a 
threepenny  bit,  so  that  I got  more  pence.  And 
then,  when  the  butcher’s  book  came  to  five  and 
sixpence  half  penny,  Mr.  Barker  often  says,  'Never 
mind  the  halfpenny,  Miss  Toosey,’  and  I put  it  into 
my  box;  and  sometimes  I get  a halfpenny  on  the 
washing.  Of  course  it  seems  very  little,  but  it  all 
helps.  And  then  I fine  myself.  I got  a good  deal 
that  way.  A halfpenny  if  I lose  my  spectacles. 
A penny  if  I go  to  sleep  in  church;  yes,  Mr.  John, 
I’m  sorry  to  say  I do  drop  off  now  and  then.  I 
know  it’s  very  wrong,  but  it’s  wonderful  how  it 
cures  you  of  such  habits  if  you  have  to  pay  for 
them;  I don’t  lose  my  spectacles  half  so  often  as  I 
used  to,  indeed  I feel  quite  vexed  sometimes  that  I 
don’t  get  more  fines;  but  I don’t  think  it  fair  to 
lose  them  on  purpose.  I might  save  a good  deal 
more  if  it  wasn’t  for  Betty.  She’s  a good  girl  and 
honest,  and  much  attached  to  me;  but  she’s  very 
obstinate  and  wrong-headed.  The  fuss  that  girl 


44 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


made  about  my  letting  the  fire  out  now  and  then  of 
an  afternoon,  for  the  winter  has  been  mild,  Mr. 
John,  and  coals  such  a price!  After  I’d  done  it 
once  or  twice,  she  found  out  it  was  not  an  accident, 
and  she  would  come  bouncing  in  and  put  on  coals 
every  half-hour,  till  there  was  a fire  fit  to  roast  an 
ox,  and  once  she  gave  warning  because  I did  not 
take  a second  helping  at  dinner.  But  there’s  one 
thing  I can  do  without  another  year,  which  no  one 
can  object  to,  and  that  is  my  sitting  in  church.  The 
free  seats  are  so  comfortable  that  it  really  would  be 
a change  for  the  better,  except  perhaps  as  to  the 
hearing.” 

Just  at  this  point  some  fresh  visitors  arrived,  and 
John  prepared  to  go;  but,  finding  the  passage 
blocked  by  a double  perambulator,  and  a smiling 
nurse  and  nursemaid  exchanging  confidences  with 
Betty  at  the  door,  and  hearing  the  tallest  of  the 
visitors  (who  was  about  as  high  as  the  table)  de- 
clare that  “Mamma  said  they  were  not  to  stop,  but 
she  sent  her  love  and  the  Graphic”  he  resumed  his 
seat,  and  offered  a knee  and  an  inspection  of  his 
watch  to  the  two  nearest  young  Mackenzies.  There 
were  nine  young  Mackenzies,  of  all  ages;  every 
year  a fresh  curly  head  or  Sunday  hat  appeared 
in  the  square  pew  by  the  north  door,  which  Mr. 
Peters  compared  to  a pigeon  pie,  till  at  last  it  ran 


MISS  TOOSEV’S  MISSION.  45 

over  altogether  into  another  seat  by  the  pulpit, 
which  could  hardly  contain  them  now. 

Miss  Toosey's  present  visitors  were  the  younger 
detachment,  all  of  them  pretty  more  or  less  with 
that  beauty  which  has  been  called  "the  sacrament 
of  goodness  and  innocence/' — cheerful  souls,  not 
tall  enough  to  see  troubles, — very  well  contented 
with  life  as  seen  from  near  the  ground,  which  is,  I 
fancy,  a much  more  amusing  point  of  view  than 
we  enjoy.  They  had  a good  deal  of  information  to 
give,  unintelligible  to  John,  but  Miss  Toosey  gave 
a free  translation,  which  enlightened  his  darkness. 
Life  was  more  than  usually  cheerful  that  morning, 
for  they  had  met  that  walking  money-bag,  papa, 
as  they  went  out,  whose  store  of  pennies  was  in- 
exhaustible when  he  could  be  cajoled  or  teased  into 
feeling  in  his  pocket.  To-day  in  a moment  of  lavish 
generosity,  he  had  given  a penny  all  round,  even 
to  Kitty,  who  had  conveyed  it  at  once  to  her  mouth, 
without  waiting  for  the  visit  to  Mrs.  Goodenough's, 
which  transformed  pennies  into  all  that  heart  can 
desire. 

“Mine  penny!"  says  Mabel, who  is  rather  solemn- 
ized by  her  position  on  John's  knee;  and  she  al- 
lows him  to  catch  a glimpse  of  her  treasure,  clasped 
tightly  in  her  soft  knitted  glove,  in  which  the 
fingers  live  all  together  in  dimpled  friendliness,  and 
the  thumb  only  enjoys  a house  to  itself. 


46 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION, 


“What  are  you  going  to  buy?''  asks  John. 

“Bun g,”  is  the  decided  answer. 

Meanwhile  the  other  children  are  examining  the 
money-box  on  the  table,  rattling  its  contents  in  a 
manner  deafening  to  older  ears,  till  Miss  Toosey 
begins  to  tell  them  of  the  poor  little  black  children 
who  never  go  to  church  or  say  their  prayers,  which 
rouses  great  interest. 

“Naughty,  wicked  little  children*”  is  the  univer- 
sal opinion. 

“Poor  little  things!”  says  Miss  Toosey  reprov- 
ingly, “ they  have  not  any  church  to  go  to,  and 
they  have  never  been  taught  to  say  their  prayers.” 

I am  afraid  some  of  the  little  Mackenzies  were 
disposed  to  envy  the  little  black  children,  who 
could  go  straight  into  their  cribs  when  they  were 
sleepy,  and  play  at  dolls  any  day  in  the  week.  But 
they  were  discreetly  silent  while  Miss  Toosey  ex- 
plained that  the  money  in  the  box  was  to  go  out 
to  make  them  good  little  black  boys  and  girls. 

“Make  them  white,”  says  Ben  decisively. 

Miss  Toosey  is  embarrassed,  regarding  things 
from  a severely  literal  point  of  view;  but  John 
comes  to  the  rescue. 

“Yes,  that’s  about  it,  young  man.” 

And  just  then  Maudie  discovers  the  “dear  little 
darling  hole”  at  the  top  where  the  pennies  go  in. 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


47 


and  all  the  children  admire  it  and  feel  it,  and  Ma- 
bel pats  with  her  woolly  gloves,  repeating  gravely, 
“Make  black  boy  white.” 

I don't  know  quite  how  it  happened,  for  all  the 
other  children  were  under  the  sofa,  trying  to  catch 
Sammy  the  cat,  and  Miss  Toosey  distracted  by  her 
anxiety  lest  they  or  the  cat  should  get  hurt,  and 
Mabel  was  placidly  tapping  the  box  with  her  pen- 
ny, repeating,  “Make  black  boy  white”  at  inter- 
vals; when  John  heard  a sudden  rattle,  and,  look- 
ing down,  said,  “Hullo!”  for  the  knitted  glove  was 
empty,  and  Mabel  looked  up  at  him  with  rather  an 
awe-struck  face,  repeating,  “Make  black  boy 
white.” 

“O  Mr.  John!”  Miss  Toosey  exclaimed,  her  eyes 
filling  with  tears,  “the  dear,  sweet  little  angel,  giv- 
ing her  little  all  to  the  Mission!  How  touching! — 
how  beautiful!” 

John,  however,  whose  eyes  were  not  full  of  tears, 
saw  an  ominous  quivering  about  the  little  angel's 
under  lip,  and  an  anxious  feeling  of  knitted  gloves 
around  the  “dear,  darling  little  hole,”  as  if  the  pen- 
ny might  yet  be  recovered,  and  as  if  the  giver  had 
not  realized  the  fatal  and  irretrievable  nature  of 
putting  into  a missionary-box.  The  full  sense  of 
her  loss  at  last  overwhelmed  her,  and  she  burst  into 
uncontrolable  grief,  “I  wants  my  penny”  being  the 
burden  of  the  tale. 


48 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION. 


It  was  in  vain  John  handed  her  over  to  Miss 
Toosey  who  quickly  supplied  her  with  another 
penny,  and  supplemented  it  with  a biscuit  and  a 
lump  of  sugar;  it  was  not  “mine  penny,  what  papa 
gave  me!”  and  at  last  she  was  carried  off  sobbing, 
and  casting  looks  of  fear  and  aversion  at  the  mis- 
sionary-box on  the  table. 

That  afternoon,  as  John  was  on  the  way  to  the 
station,  he  saw  Miss  Toosey  wending  her  way 
thoughtfully  up  High  Street,  and  he  crossed  over 
and  joined  her.  She  was  on  her  way  home  from 
the  rectory,  and  her  first  remark  to  John  Rossitter 
was,  “Do  you  believe  in  miracles,  Mr.  John?" 

“As  described  in  the  Bible?" 

“Oh,  no;  of  course  every  one  believes  in  them 
I mean  miracles  now.” 

“Well,  Miss  Toosey,  if  you  mean  winking  Vir- 
gins and  hysterical  peasant  girls,  I am  afraid  I am 
rather  skeptical." 

“Ah,  Mr.  John!  that's  what  I thought  to  myself. 
It's  popish  to  believe  in  such  things  nowadays,— 
all  superstition  and  such  like, — so  I'm  glad  I did 
not  tell  Miss  Baker  what  came  into  my  head." 

“May  I ask  what  it  was?  I don't  think  you  ure 
at  all  popish." 

1 “Well,  I'll  tell  you.  It's  my  missionary-*oox. 
Now,  Mr.  John,  how  much  do  you  think  there  was 
in  it?" 


MISS  TOO SEY'S  MISSION. 


49 


"I  have  not  the  least  idea.” 

‘‘Well,  there  was  six  pounds  nine  and  seven- 
pence  three  farthings.”  Miss  Toosey’s  voice  sank 
to  an  impressive  whisper,  and  she  stood  still,  look- 
ing at  John  as  if  he  might  be  so  overcome  by  sur- 
prise as  to  drop  his  bag  and  umbrella,  or  require 
support  to  prevent  him  from  falling.  But  he  only 
said, — 

“You  don’t  say  so,”  in  a very  ordinary  tone  of 
voice. 

“Six  pounds  nine  and  sevenpence  three  farth- 
ings,” repeated  Miss  Toosey,  emphasizing  the  six 
pounds,  as  if  he  had  not  appreciated  the  vastness 
of  the  sum. 

“Ah!”  said  John;  “I’m  sure  it  does  credit  to  you, 
Miss  Toosey;  who  would  have  thought  that  'Your 
change,  with  thanks’  would  have  added  up  so.  I 
am  afraid  you  must  have  gone  to  sleep  in  church 
very  often.” 

“But  it  could  not  have  been  that,”  went  on  Miss 
Toosey  solemnly.  “One  pound  nine  and  seven- 
pence  three  farthings  were  principally  in  coppers, 
and  any  sixpenny  or  fourpenny  bits  I could  ac- 
count for.  But  the  five  pounds  were  in  a note,  so 
it  could  not  have  been  change  or  a fine.” 

“You  must  have  slipped  it  in  some  day  by 
chance  with  other  money.  ” 


50 


MISS  TOOSEY’ S MISSION. 


“No,  for  I never  have  notes.  When  I draw  my 
money  I always  get  it  in  gold,  for  I am  always 
afraid  of  notes  blowing  into  the  fire  or  getting  torn 
up.  And,  besides,”  went  on  Miss  Toosey,  “I  am 
not  so  rich,  Mr.  John,  that  I could  lose  even  six- 
pence without  knowing  it.” 

“It  is  very  strange,”  said  John. 

“Strange!”  seemed  a mild  expression  to  Miss 
Toosey,  to  whom  it  appeared  miraculous.  “I  don't 
know  how  to  account  for  it,  Mr.  John.  I suppose 
it's  wrong  to  think  it  a miracle,  but  I could  not  help 
thinking  of  what  happened  this  morning.” 

“What  was  that?” 

“Why,  don't  you  remember  that  dear  child  put- 
ting her  penny  into  the  box?” 

“Oh,  yes;  and  making  such  a hullaballoo  after- 
wards.” 

Miss  Toosey  did  not  wish  to  recall  that  part  of 
the  affair.  “It  was  so  sweetly  done.” 

“Yes;  but  you  gave  it  back  directly.” 

Miss  Toosey  felt  quite  cross  at  such  inconvenient 
remarks  interrupting  her  miracle;  but  she  contin- 
ued, relapsing  into  a confidential  whisper, — 

“You  see,  Mr.  John,  it  was  a lad  that  brought 
the  five  barley-loaves,  and  I thought  perhaps  the 
baby's  penny  might  have  been  turned  into  a five- 
pound  note.” 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


51 


John  made  no  comment,  and  she  went  on  as 
much  to  herself  as  to  him, — 

“I  suppose  it’s  popish  to  think  of  such  a thing; 
and  besides  one  would  have  thought  if  it  had  been 
a miracle  it  would  have  been  quite  a new  Bank  of 
England  note;  but  it  was  one  of  Tuckey’s,  crum- 
pled and  dirty,  that  had  been  cut  in  half,  and  joined 
down  the  middle  with  the  edge  of  stamps,  and  it 
had  Mr.  Purts’s  name  written  on  the  back.  But 
still,”  said  Miss  Toosey  wistfully,  as  they  came  to 
the  station-road,  and  John  shook  hands  in  parting, 
“it’s  God  that  gives  the  increase  anyhow,  miracle 
or  not,  and  He  knows  all  about  it.” 


CHAPTER  V. 

Miracles  do  not  happen  every  day;  and  Miss 
Toosey ’s  money-box  did  not  contain  a bank  note 
the  next  time  it  was  opened,  or  any  sum  that  Miss 
Toosey  could  not  well  account  for;  indeed,  it  was 
rather  less  than  more  than  she  expected,  even 
though  the  cost  of  her  sitting  in  church  was  added 
to  it.  She  did  not,  however,  carry  out  her  plan  of 
sitting  in  the  free  seats,  for  when  she  spoke  to  Mr. 
Budd  about  giving  up  her  seat,  Mr.  Peters  hap- 
pened to  be  present,  and  he  would  not  hear  of 


ubrarv 


52 


MISS  TOOSEY' S MISSION . 


such  a thing.  “Why,  Miss  Toosey,  we  should  not 
know  ourselves  if  you  were  not  in  your  usual 
place.”  And  Mr.  Budd  added,  that  “Some  one,  as 
did  not  wish  to  be  mentioned,  had  offered  to  pay 
the  rent  rather  than  Miss  Toosey  should  give  it 
up.”  So-  it  was  arranged  that  she  should  still  oc- 
cupy the  seat,  at  any  rate  till  it  was  wanted  for  some 
one  else;  and  as  the  Martel  congregation  were  not 
overflowing,  Miss  Toosey  was  not  likely  to  be 
turned  out.  She  did  not  quite  like  this  arrange- 
ment: she  felt  rather  like  an  impostor  as  she  passed 
the  free  seats,  and  Mr.  Wyatt  opened  the  pew- 
door  for  her;  and  it  took  off  much  of  the  pleasure 
when  she  dropped  the  money  (that  would  otherwise 
have  been  paid  to  Mr.  Budd)  into  her  box;  for,  as 
she  said,  she  did  not  feel  the  want  of  it,  so  it 
hardly  seemed  like  giving  at  all. 

I must  not  stop  to  describe  at  any  length  Miss 
Toosey’s  other  missionary  efforts,  though  she  did 
not  forget  the  other  barley-loaves  of  which  the 
Bishop  had  spoken, — “her  time,  her  influence,  and 
her  prayers,” — or  I could  tell  you  of  her  numerous 
disappointmens  in  answering  advertisements  such 
as, — “To  those  of  either  sex  anxious  to-  increase 
their  income;”  and  “£2  weekly  easily  realized;” 
and  of  her  venturing  a $s.  subscription  to  a 
“Ladies’  Needlework  Society,”  which  entitled  her 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


53 


to  send  six  articles  for  sale  to  a shop  in  a fashion- 
able part  of  London;  and  how  she  accomplished  an 
antimacassar  of  elaborate  design  to  send  up  there. 
As  to  her  influence,  that  was  a puzzling  matter  to 
one  who  had  such  a humble  opinion  of  herself  as 
Miss  Toosey;  and  she  nearly  worked  herself  into  a 
nervous  fever  through  her  attempts  to  mention  the 
subject  to  some  of  the  wealthy  shopkeepers  or 
others  in  Martel;  and  at  last  she  adopted  the  plan 
of  distributing  leaflets,  and  invested  in  a small  bun- 
dle on  missionary  subjects,  which  she  left  about  in  a 
surreptitious,  stealthy  way,  in  shops,  or  at  the  rail- 
way station,  or  slipped  between  the  pages  of  a “So- 
ciety” book,  or  even  sometimes  on  the  high  road, 
with  a stone  to  keep  them  from  blowing  away. 
Even  with  these  precautions  she  managed  to  give 
great  offence  to  Mrs.  Gardener  Jones,  who  found  a 
leaflet  in  a book  sent  on  from  Miss  Toosey’s,  and 
who,  being  of  a very  dark  complexion  and  Eastern 
cast  of  countenance,  took  the  matter  as  a personal 
insinuation  about  her  birth.  So  it  was  quite  a relief 
to  Miss  Toosey  to  run  to  the  last  barley-loaf  that 
the  Bishop  had  mentioned, — “her  prayers;”  at  any 
rate,  she  could  give  that  with  all  her  heart.  She 
found  a missionary  prayer  in  an  old  magazine,  writ- 
ten in  an  inflated,  pompous  style,  with  long  words 
and  involved  sentences,  as  different  as  possible  from 


54 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


the  great  simplicity  of  that  prayer  in  which  children 
of  all  ages  and  degrees  of  learning  through  all  time 
are  taught  to  address  “Our  Father ;”  but  she  was 
not  critical;  and  the  feeling  she  expressed  in  those 
words  was  not  rendered  less  simple  or  earnest  by 
its  pompous  clothing. 

“Where  is  Miss  Toosey?”  John  Rossitter  asked 
his  mother  one  Sunday  morning,  as  they  drove 
home  from  church;  “she  was  not  there  this  morn- 

* 99 

mg. 

“Well,  I think  I heard  some  one  say  she  was  ill. 
Yes,  it  was  Mr.  Ryder  told  me  she  was  laid  up 
with  cold  or  something.  She  has  not  been  at 
church  for  several  Sundays;  and  really  the  draught 
from  the  vestry  door  is  dreadful.” 

After  church  that  evening,  a sudden  impulse 
seized  John  to  go  and  see  how  Miss  Toosey  was; 
and  when  he  had  packed  his  mother  into  the 
brougham,  with  her  rugs  and  furs,  he  turned  off 
towards  North  Street,  among  the  groups  of  peo- 
ple returning  from  church.  It  was  a cold  October 
evening,  with  great,  solemn,  bright  stars  overhead, 
and  a frosty  stillness  in  the  air,  which  sets  one 
listening  for  something  above  the  trifling  noises  of 
this  little  world.  Sunday  visitors  were  rare  at  Miss 
Toosey‘s»  and,  as  Betty  said,  “It  give  her  quite  a 
turn”  when  John's  sharp  knock  came  at  the  door. 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


55 


“She's  very  middlin',”  she  said,  in  answer  to 
John’s  inquiries;  “and  she've  been  terribly  low 
this  evening,  as  ain't  like  her.” 

“What's  the  matter?” 

“Well,  Mr.  Ryder  do  say  as  it's  the  brongtypus 
and  indigestion  of  the  lungs,”  said  Betty  in  an  aw- 
ful voice,  feeling  that  so  many  syllables  must  prove 
fatal;  “and  as  I was  setting  by  the  kitching  fire 
last  night  a coffin  popped  right  out,  and” — 

“All  right,”  said  John.  “Is  she  in  bed?” 

“No;  she  ain't  kep’  her  bed  a whole  day,  though 
she  did  ought  to.  But  come  in,  doee  now;  it  will 
cheer  her  up  a bit  to  see  you.” 

John  Rossitter  was  quite  shocked  to  see  the 
change  in  Miss  Toosey  when  he  went  into  the 
parlor.  She  was  sitting  in  the  arm-chair  by  the 
fire,  wrapped  up  in  a big  shawl,  looking  so  small 
and  shrunken  and  old  and  feeble  that  you  could 
hardly  have  recognized  the  brisk  little  lady  who 
was  prepared  to  cross  the  seas  and  enter  on  the 
toils  and  perils  of  a missionary  life;  indeed,  she 
looked  more  ready  for  the  last  short  journey  across 
Jordan's  narrow  stream,  which  ends  all  our  travel- 
ling days,  and  to  enter  into  the  life  where  toils  and 
perils  are  replaced  by  rest.  She  had  been  crying 
too,  and  could  hardly  summon  up  a wintry  smile 
to  receive  John;  and  the  tears  overflowed  more 


56 


MISS  TOOSEV’S  MISSION. 


than  once  while  he  talked  of  his  journey  down,  and 
his  mother's  rheumatism,  and  the  tree  that  had  been 
blown  down  the  night  before  in  their  garden,  try- 
ing to  interest  her  and  distract  her  thoughts  by 
talking  on  indifferent  subjects.  His  hand  was  rest- 
ing on  the  table  as  he  spoke,  and,  without  think- 
ing, he  took  hold  of  the  missionary-box  close  by, 
and  weighed  it  in  his  fingers.  He  hardly  knew  what 
he  had  in  his  hand  till  Miss  Toosey  burst  out  cry- 
ing, and  covered  her  eyes  with  her  handkerchief. 

“It  is  nearly  empty,"  sobbed  the  poor  old  lady; 
“nearly  empty!" 

And  then  John  Rossitter  pulled  his  chair  nearer 
to  hers,  and  laid  one  of  his  warm,  strong  hands  on 
her  poor  little  weak  cold  one,  and  said,  “What  is  it 
you  are  fretting  about?  Tell  me." 

And  then  she  told  him,  sometimes  interrupted  by 
her  sobs,  sometimes  by  the  fits  of  coughing  that  left 
her  very  breathless  and  exhausted.  It  had  all  failed, 
all  the  five  barley-loaves  she  had  had  to  offer;  they 
were  all  worthless.  She  was  too  old  and  foolish 
and  ignorant  to  give  herself  for  the  work;  she  was 
too  poor  to  give  any  money , and  the  little  she  had 
saved  with  much  care  must  go  now  for  the  doctor’s 
bill;  she  had  tried  to  give  her  time , but  her  anti- 
macassars would  not  sell,  and  she  could  not  paint 
photographs;  then  she  tried  her  influence ; but  she 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION. 


57 


did  not  think  she  had  any,  for  every  one  laughed 
when  she  spoke  to  them  about  the  missions,  and 
Mrs.  Gardner  Jones  was  offended  when  she  gave 
her  a tract  with  a negro's  face  on  it,  and  “Am  I not 
a man  and  a brother?" 

“Then  there  was  only  my  prayers,  Mr.  John,  and 
I did  think  I could  have  done  that  at  least;  and  I 
did  keep  on  regularly  with  that  prayer  out  of  the 
magazine,  but  the  last  three  nights  I've  been  so 
tired  and  worn  out  that  Betty  would  make  me  say 
my  prayers  after  I was  in  bed;  and  I don't  really 
think  I could  have  knelt  down;  and  every  night 
I've  dropped  off  to  sleep  before  I got  to  the  poor 
heathen.  So  I’ve  failed  in  that  too.  And  I've  been 
thinking,  thinking,  thinking,  as  I sat  here  to-night, 
Mr.  John,  that  perhaps  the  Lord  would  not  take  my 
barley-loaves,  because  they  were  so  good-for-noth- 
ing; but  I'd  nothing  else,  nothing  else!" 

I do  not  think  that  John  Rossitter  had  ever 
spoken  a word  on  religious  subjects  in  his  life;  he 
avoided  discussion  on  such  matters  like  the  plague; 
and  he  was  one  of  those  reserved,  deep  natures 
who  shrink  from  letting  curious  eyes  peer  into  the 
sanctuary  of  their  faith,  and  from  dissecting  their 
religious  opinions  with  that  clumsy  scalpel,  the 
tongue.  Uninspired  words  seemed  to  him  to  be 
too  rude  and  unwieldy  to  convey  the  subtle  mys- 


58 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSION, 


teries  of  faith,  to  break  with  their  jarring  im 
sufficiency  into  the  harmony  of  praise,  to  weigh 
down  the  wing  of  prayer  that  is  struggling  towards 
Heaven,  to  trouble  the  waters  where  we  are  trying 
to  see  the  reflection  “ as  in  a glass  darkly.* ’ There 
is  but  one  power  can  open  the  close-sealed  lips  of 
such  a nature,  and  that  is  when  the  angel  takes  a 
live  coal  from  the  great  Altar  of  love  and  lays  it  on 
his  mouth  ; and  then  he  speaks,  and  with  a power 
wanting  in  the  glib  outpourings  of  a shallower  na- 
nature.  And  so  John  Rossitter  found  himself  speak- 
ing words  of  comfort  to  Miss  Toosey,  which 
seemed  like  a new  language  to  his  unaccustomed 
lips ; telling  her  how  small,  how  poor  everything 
earthly  is  in  God’s  sight,  and  yet  how  nothing  is 
too  small,  nothing  too  poor  for  the  good  Lord’s  no- 
tice ; how  the  greatest  saint  is,  after  all,  only  an  un- 
profitable servant ; and  how  He  can  take  a loving, 
humble  heart  in  His  hand  and  make  it  as  much  as 
He  would. 

“And  you’re  sure,  quite  sure,  that  it’s  not  be- 
cause He’s  angry  with  me  that  He  has  not  made 
use  of  me?” 

“ Dear  old  friend,  He  may  make  use  of  you  yet.’’ 

She  was  coughing  badly  just -then,  and  when  the 
fit  was  over  she  shook  her  head.  ” Not  very  likely 
now  Mr.  John  ; but  He  knows  I was  willing,  so  it 
doesn’t  matter.” 


MISS  TOOSEY1  S MISSION. 


50 


She  got  more  cheerful  then,  and  asked  him  to 
come  and  see  her  again  before  he  went  back  to 
London,  which  he  promised  to  do;  and  then  he 
rose  to  go  away. 

“You  must  not  fret  about  the  empty  box,”  he 
said,  “or  I shall  scold  you  next  time  I come.  And 
look  here,  Miss  Toosey,  you  have  never  asked  me 
to  subscribe,  though  I have  often  teased  you  by 
pretending  to  put  buttons  and  rubbish  into  the 
box.” 

“Will  you  really?”  she  said.  “I  always  fancied 
that  you  did  not  hold  with  missions,  and  thought 
them  rather  nonsense,  though  you  were  so  kind  to 
me  about  it;  but  if  you  would  it  would  be  a comfort 
to  think  the  box  was  not  quite  empty.” 

He  felt  in  his  pocket,  but  his  purse  was  not  there. 
“You  must  give  me  credit,  Miss  Toosey,”  he  said, 
smiling;  “I  shall  consider  it  a debt.  I promise  to 
give — let  me  see — I must  think  how  much  I can 
afford.  I promise  to  give  something  to  your  Mis- 
sion. And  now  make  haste  to  bed,  and  get  well.” 
She  was  collecting  her  things  together  to  go  up- 
stairs,— her  spectacle-case,  Bible,  and  one  or  two 
books;  and  out  of  one  of  them  a printed  bit  of 
paper  slipped  and  fluttered  to  John  Rossitter’s 
feet  as  he  stood  at  the  door.  It  was  the  prayer  for 
missions  cut  out  of  the  magazine.  He  picked  it  up. 


60 


MISS  TOOSEY’S  MISSION. 


“And  don’t  fret  yourself  about  the  prayer  either," 
he  said;  “let  me  have  it,  may  I?  And  suppose  I 
say  it  for  you?  And  don’t  you  think  that  Thy 
kingdom  come’  will  do  for  your  missionary  prayer 
till  you  are  better?” 

And  she  smiled  and  nodded  just  like  her  old  self 
as  she  went  out.  ' , 

“She  will  soon  be  better,”  John  said  to  Betty,  as 
he  passed  her  in  the  passage;  but  he  did  not  guess 
how  soon.  , 

“Mother,”  he  said  next  morning,  coming  into  the 
breakfast-room  with  a large  bunch  of  bloomy 
grapes  in  his  hand,  “will  you  make  my  peace  with 
Rogers?  I have  cut  the  best  bunch  in  his  house, 
and  I go  in  fear  of  my  life  from  his  vengeance.” 
“My  dear  John,  how  very  inconsiderate  you  are! 
He  will  be  so  vexed!  Why  could  not  you  have 
asked  him  for  it?” 

“It  was  a sudden  temptation  that  overtook  me 
when  I passed  through;  and  I am  going  to  take 
them  to  Miss  Toosey;  and  if  there  is  anything  else 
nice  you  can  suggest  for  that  poor  little  soul,  I’ll 
take  it  along  with  them.” 

Mrs.  Rossitter  was  kind-hearted  and  liberal,  and 
she  promised  to  send  one  of  the  maids  into  Martel 
that  afternoon  with  some  invalid  dainties;  but  John 
insisted  on  taking  the  grapes  himself,  and  marched 


MISS  TOOSEV’S  MISSION. 


61 


off  with  them  after  breakfast,  regardless  of  the  ex- 
postulations of  his  mother  and  Humphrey,  who  had 
other  views  for  passing  the  morning. 

As  John  Rossitter  turned  the  corner  into  North 
Street  he  ran  up  against  Mr.  Ryder,  and  stopped 
to  talk  to  him  about  the  pheasant-shooting  in  the 
Rentmore  coverts.  “I  am  just  going  to  ask  for  Miss 
Toosey,”  he  said,  as  they  were  parting. 

“Miss  Toosey?  Then  you  need  not  go  any 
further;  she  died  last  night.” 

“Died!” 

“Yes,  poor  old  soul;  and  it  was  only  a wonder 
that  she  lived  so  long.” 

John  Rossitter  turned  and  went  on  without 
another  word,  leaving  the  doctor  staring  after  him 
in  surprise.  He  went  on  to  the  house  mechani- 
cally, and  had  knocked  at  the  door  before  he  recol- 
lected that  there  was  no  longer  any  object  to  his 
visit.  Betty  opened  the  door,  with  a red,  swollen 
face  and  burst  out  crying  at  sight  of  him,  and  threw 
her  apron  over  her  head  in  uncontrolled  grief. 

“All  right,”  he  said,  “I  know;”  and  passed  by 
her  and  went  into  the  little  parlor,  and  sat  down  in 
the  same  chair  that  he  had  sat  in  the  night  before, 
and  again  involuntarily  lifted  the  missionary-box 
in  his  hand.  Presently  Betty,  having  partly  recov- 
ered herself,  sidled  into  the  room,  glad  of  company 


62 


MISS  TOOSEV'S  MISSION. 


in  the  “unked”  quiet  of  the  house.  He  asked  no 
questions ; and  by  and  by  she  sumoned  cour- 
age to  tell  him  how  the  quiet  end  came  at  mid- 
night. “Miss  Baker  have  been  in  this  morning  al- 
ready, asking  me  no  end  of  questions;  and  she  were 
quite  put  out  with  me  because  I hadn’t  nothing  to 
tell,  and  because  Miss  Toosey,  poor  dear!  hadn’t 
said  a lot  of  texes  and  fine  things.  She  says,  'Was 
it  a triumphal  death?’  says  she.  And  I said  as  how 
I didn’t  know  what  that  might  be;  and  then  she 
worrited  to  know  what  was  the  very  last  words  as 
ever  Miss  Toosey  said,  and  I didn’t  like  for  to  tell 
her,  but  she  would  have  it.  You  see,  sir,  the  old 
lady  said  her  prayers  just  as  usual;  and  when  1 
went  in  to  see  as  she  were  all  right  on  my  way  to 
bed,  she  says,  Tm  pretty  comfortable,  Betty,’  says 
she;  'good-night  to  you;  and  you’ve  not  forgotten 
to  give  Sammy  his  supper?’ — as  is  the  cat,  sir.  And 
them’s  the  last  words  she  uttered;  for  when  I come 
in  half  an  hour  after,  hearing  her  cough,  I see  the 
change  was  a-coming.  But  Miss  Baker  she  didn't 
like  it  when  I told  her,  though  it  were  her  own 
fault  for  asking;  and  she  says,  'So  she  didn’t  testify 
to  her  faith,’  says  she.  And  I didn’t  know  what  she 
might  mean,  so  I says,  ' She  were  always  good  and 
kind  to  me  and  every  one,’  says  I;  and  so  she 
were,”  added  Betty,  touching  unknowingly  on  a 


MISS  TOOSEY  S MISSION. 


63 


great  truth;  “and  if  that’s  testifying  to  her  faith, 
she’ve  done  it  all  her  life.” 

And  then  she  left  him  sitting  there  and  musing 
on  the  quiet  close  of  a quiet  life,  or  rather  the  quiet 
passing  into  fuller  life;  for  what  is  death  but  “an 
episode  in  life?”  There  was  nothing  grand  or 
striking  in  Miss  Toosey’s  death — there  very  rarely 
is;  it  is  only  now  and  then  that  there  is  a sunset 
glory  over  this  life’s  evening;  generally  those 
around  see  only  the  seed  sown  in  weakness 
and  dishonor;  generally  when  the  glad  summons 
comes,  “Friend,  come  up  higher,”  the  happy  soul 
rises  up  eager  to  obey  and  leave  “the  lower 
places”  without  giving  those  left  behind  even  a 
glance  of  the  brightness  of  the  wedding  garment, 
or  a word  of  the  fulness  of  joy  in  the  Bridegroom’s 
presence. 

And  presently  John  Rossitter  came  away;  and 
though  he  held  the  missionary-box  thoughtfully  in 
his  hand,  he  put  nothing  into  it.  Had  he  forgotten 
his  promise  to  Miss  Toosey,  which  he  said  he  re- 
garded as  a debt,  to  give  something  to  her  Mission? 

“And  so  there  is  an  end  to  poor  Miss  Toosey  and 
her  Mission!”  said  Mr. Peters  a few  days  later,  as  he 
met  Mr.  Glover  returning  from  her  funeral  at  the 
cemetery;  and  Mr.  Glover  echoed  the  words  with  a 


G4 


MISS  TOOSEY'S  MISSUS. 


superior,  pitying  smile:  “So  there  is  an  end  of  poor 
Miss  Toosey  and  her  Mission !” 

Poor  Miss  Toosey!  Why  do  people  so  often  use 
that  expression  about  the  happy  dead?  Surely  they 
might  find  a more  appropriate  one  for  those  who 
have  left  the  sordid  poverty  of  life  behind  them  and 
have  entered  into  so  rich  an  inheritance!  Of  course 
they  do  not  really  mean  that  it  was  “an  end  of  Miss 
Toosey,”  for  did  they  not  say  every  Sunday,  “I  be- 
lieve in  the  resurrection  of  the  body  and  the  life 
everlasting”?  and  how  could  they  call  than  an  end 
which  was  only  the  beginning  of  new  life?  So  this 
was  only  a figure  of  speech.  But  perhaps  you  will 
echo  Mr.  Glover's  sigh  over  the  end  of  her  Mission, 
and  regret  that  such  zeal  and  ardor  should  have 
been  wasted  and  produced  no  results.  Wait  a bit! 
There  is  no  waste  in  nature,  science  teaches  us; 
neither  is  there  any  in  grace,  says  faith.  We  can- 
not always  see  the  results,  but  they  are  there  as 
surely  in  grace  as  in  nature., 

That  same  evening  John  Rossitter  wrote  to  the 
Bishop  of  Nawaub,  and  very  humbly  and  diffidently 
offered  himself,  his  young  life,  his  health  and  his 
strength,  his  talents  and  energies,  his  younger  son's 
portion,  all  that  God  had  given  him,  for  his  Mas- 
ter's use;  and  the  Bishop  who  never  ceased  to  pray 
“the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  to  send  forth  laborers 
into  the  harvest,”  “thanked  God  and  took  courage.” 


3 0112  056534966 


